Darkest Before the Dawn
by Estel Star-Kindler
Summary: Sometimes, not even millennia of waiting can cool the desire for revenge; when the arrival of a long lost stranger in Rivendell triggers a series of tragic events, Estel and Legolas must race against time before an ancient evil comes full circle...
1. Homecoming

**Disclaimer: All rights to whomsoever they belong, unless it already belongs to me.**

**A/N: It is important to note that this story stands as a joint sequel to two of my previously unrelated fics, _Second_ _Star to the Right_ and _Lullaby of the Lily Flower_. Truth be told, it is not essential to have read _Lullaby_ as the events of that story do not directly affect the events of this; however, some OC characters and events from _Second Star_ do have a direct bearing on the plot of this fic. That said, I do intend to write this fic so that you do not need to have read either to understand it, so if you don't fancy going back to read the other two, there will not necessarily be any need to! **

**Just for reference, in case you have read _Lullaby_, this is set around a year later. It's a quiet chapter I suppose, but don't worry, it won't last for long. I have also tried really hard to do away with any typos, having edited it about five times, but please accept my apologies for any that slipped through the net! Anyway, if you have made it this far, I will stop this ramble and let you get on with the serious business of reading!**

**Chapter One: Homecoming**

_Oh the leaves are falling from the trees,_

_And the snow is coming don't you know,_

_But I'll still remember which way to go,_

_I'm on the road, the road to home._

_I'm here where I belong,_

_I'll see you soon,_

_It won't be long._

**_- The Road to Home, Amy MacDonald_**

Leaves crunched satisfyingly beneath his booted feet as he followed the woodland path, winding slowly ever downwards. The trees swayed slightly in a gentle breeze, wafting through the dark, wayward hair that had grown long since last he had walked this way. The golden red canopy, still in places tinged with green, allowed the dappled autumn sun to warm his face, and he smiled as it evoked memories of his brother and laughter. Below to his left, a familiar rush of water raced hidden by in its deep gorge, seeming utterly unchanged despite his prolonged absence.

Six months he had been gone...not that six months was a particularly long time even by mortal standards, but it was the longest this young Ranger had spent in the wilds, away from his family and home. Returning now, things were not different exactly...rather he saw them in a new light. Dark grey eyes scanned the glades he had known so well; there, where he had learnt to use sword and bow with his brothers; that secluded path, where he had ridden his first horse, and years later fallen to break his arm; these trees, trees he had tried for so long to climb as quickly as his elven counterparts, learning the hard lesson that that could never be. Scenes all around him that he had so taken for granted that he had never really seen them, not truly; yet now he saw them all, his home in the fading russet glow of autumn, and his heart ached as it had not done in months for sight of his father and brothers.

"We have lost you again, Strider," a small voice said in his ear, making him start. He glanced over his shoulder to see Ancadil smiling at him, and gave the other Ranger a mildly guilty look.

"Memories, Ancadil," Strider replied with a sigh. "Nothing seems to have changed..."

Ancadil regarded him with shrewd, green eyes, his shaggy auburn hair pulled away from his face in a clip. Two decades Strider's senior, he had been born in the wilderness and lived there all his life, like many of the Rangers of the North. Consequently he had never really understood the concept of a fixed home, for his own had always been a roving point, and he never truly felt at in ease being too long in any one place. But he knew that Strider's heart had bent ever more to his childhood dwelling the closer they drew to it, and more and more often the young ranger would seem to watch the world with misted eyes as the landscape became more familiar around him.

"Everything changes, Strider – even you," Ancadil winked. The younger Ranger looked up sharply, locking eyes with one of the men who had been his mentor this last half year. "Time cannot go backwards, and we can never be the same twice."

"Mmn," Strider replied, frowning. "I had been thinking on that too." He fell silent, and for a while spoke no more. They fell into step beside one another, behind the three men in front of them. This close to Rivendell there was no need for such securities as setting a watch, and Galdal, the swiftest runner among them, had already gone on ahead before they had broken camp at dawn to inform the hidden citadel of their coming.

"It is not always a bad thing – too change, that is," Ancadil ventured a small while later. "We become better, stronger, wiser; experience teaches us the patience that youthful impetuousness denies."

Strider smiled at him ruefully. "So I am no longer youthfully impetuous?"

"Oh well now, I cannot say that I would go that far...yet," Ancadil winked again. Strider snorted softly but did not reply, instead allowing his mind to wander in the wooded glades that held recollections he thought he had long forgotten. So wrapped up in his memories was he that he did not notice when one of the Rangers in front of them called his name.

"Strider? My brother is calling you," Ancadil said pointedly, nudging the younger man in the ribs.

"Mmn? What? Oh – sorry," he mumbled apologetically. "I was miles away."

"And probably would not have noticed even had a Warg pack had come to pay us a visit," the older Ranger grinned. It had become a running joke that Strider's reveries were so intense that he often paid little heed to his surroundings, making the more experienced Ranger's tease him that all the tracking skills he had learnt were wasting away.

Strider shoved him lightly, a genuine smile breaking across his face as they picked up their pace to join the men ahead of them. "I am not _that_ bad, Anca," he protested, waving his acknowledgement at a sprightly young man who had stopped ahead.

"Aye, well, if you insist." The older Ranger remained tight lipped, but his eyes sparkled.

"It's just...I am home," Strider said simply, gesturing vaguely around him. It seemed hard to express what he felt in words; he only knew that his heart was rejoicing as proximity to the hidden vale increased. Yet that joy was laced also with uncertainty; would his life be the same as it had been before – could _he_ be the same? Or as Ancadil said, had everything changed irrevocably?

"Aye young one, and in for a well earned rest, I'll warrant." Ancadil referred to him by the slight nickname the man had gained through being the youngest in the ranging party.

"Not if my brothers have any say in it, I fear!" Strider laughed again, the thought again causing both happiness and doubt. "They will believe I have half a year's worth of teasing to catch up on, I don't doubt."

Ancadil laughed openly, his eyes twinkling. "I think you may have a point there – but perhaps your father will keep them at bay, if only for a little while."

"That only encourages them," Strider chuckled, rolling his eyes. "The surest way of making them do something –"

"Is forbidding them to do it, I know," Ancadil finished for him, laughing at the look of mild surprise on Strider's face. "I have known the sons of Elrond since before you were born, young one," reminding Strider once more how young he was. _As if I do not feel that enough around the Firstborn! _he winced inwardly.

Ahead of them, the other Rangers had reached a point where the path slid along the top of a sheer precipice, and the greenery fell away around them as the River Bruinen came finally into view below their feet. But this was not what held the Rangers' eyes, nor what made them halt their procession and call to the young man; that was the view at the narrowest point of the gorge. Spanned by ornate stone bridges and lofty towers, the Last Homely House perched with seeming ease astride the river at its feet, commanding the pass of the steep valley. The golden glow of the afternoon sun fell across it from the high west, and the ancient Elven refuge of Lord Elrond Peredhil shone as a fallen star, marble roofs glinting pearly white. Carved arches caused the rushing waters to cascade in several arms over the tumbling falls and a mist of soft silver hung lightly in the air.

"Imladris," breathed Ancadil.

"Home," Strider echoed, his eyes fixed upon the vista etched into his memory, a tumult of thought in his head.

"Very nearly, Strider," said another Ranger, suppressing a smile. Strider turned absently to him. "Your father will be glad to see you, I think."

"And I him, Balon," Strider replied, beginning to follow the elder Ranger down the path, his long legs eating up the distance between them. "How long will you stay, do you think?" the young Ranger asked to dispel the conflicting ideas in his mind. His eyes still followed the vision of Rivendell ahead of them.

Balon looked to Halbarad, his Captain, for an answer. "Not long, Strider," Halbarad answered, watching the younger man's footing for him lest he should slip on the winding path whilst his gaze was otherwise engaged. Strider seemed oblivious to the subtle guidance the two commanding Rangers offered him. Shaking his head with a sigh, Halbarad exchanged a mildly exasperated glance with Balon who just threw his hands up in resignation, a grin on his bearded face. The Captain recalled a conversation with his second in command during the new recruit's first week: _"He is very young," Balon had commented, watching his Captain closely for more. "He is unsure," Halbarad had nodded, "of his own abilities and purpose. His is a heavy burden, one he is not fully aware of yet. But he has Arathorn's eyes...he just needs to learn to accept it."_ Halbarad _had_ seen the change in the new Ranger, and knew that the young man was only now coming to realise it for himself.

"We will spend a week, maybe more, resting and gathering supplies. I have not hunted game in these woods for years; perhaps your brothers would accompany us." Halbarad continued the conversation Strider had started as the path wound its way back into woodland and Rivendell disappeared from view behind the trees.

Turning his eyes back to the path before him, Strider nodded. "My father will probably press you to stay longer."

"Just like he always does!" Balon laughed, his voice deep and throaty and his dark eyes glittering. Grey streaked his dark hair and beard, but he was still a lithe man and being of the blood of the Dúnedain his years were longer than his smiling face belied.

"Lord Elrond has always put on the best of festivities," Halbarad agreed. "Has he not, Amarthdur?"

Strider turned to see the Ranger behind him blushing red and glaring at his Captain, and looked questioningly back at the leader.

"Elvish wine is generally too potent for most men – as I am sure you have discovered yourself," Halbarad said by way of explanation, a smile tugging at his lips at the sight of his fellow. "Amarthdur, however, did not know this."

"Or rather Ancadil did not tell me!" Amarthdur grumbled, turning fierce eyes of identical mossy green on Ancadil and causing Balon to laugh even harder.

"Oh no, you are not pinning this on me, little brother!" Ancadil called, now from the rear of the party.

"_You_ did not tell me I needed to water it down!" Amarthdur threw back, who, slighter in body than his sibling, easily side-stepped the older man to lay a playful smack on his head.

"That did not seem to stop you drinking half a barrel," mused Halbarad, his features perfectly schooled to passivity, though Balon noted the glint in his eye with glee.

"Half a barrel?" exclaimed Strider, staring at Amarthdur in shock. "Even my brothers should have difficulty managing that _together_."

"Yes, thank you Strider," Amarthdur said wearily, rolling his eyes skyward.

Ancadil grinned and clapped Strider on the back and motioned at his brother. "He was out of action for about a week, were you not Amarth?"

"Aye, and did not Lord Elrond have to send healers to him at some point?" Balon put in. "I remember him being bed ridden."

"I am not surprised!" Strider laughed, "I have had headaches enough on a couple of undiluted glasses – it is usually the Elven King Thranduil's wine that is the most potent of all," he added. "Especially the reds." He winced outwardly as half-memories filtered through his mind regarding those particular vintages.

"I have never been to Mirkwood," Amarthdur said wistfully, as their path began to wind back around towards the River; "What is it like?"

Strider opened his mouth to respond, but paused frowning before he did so. Halbarad thought he saw something akin to sorrow pass fleetingly through the young man's dark silver eyes, and shook his head almost imperceptibly at Amarthdur, who glanced worriedly at the young Ranger. Neither Lord Elrond nor Strider had given them a full account of his time in Mirkwood just over a year ago now, but rumour had reached their ears by various means, and the Captain had requested that his men not stir memories in the youth that might be painful. If he wanted to recount his adventures, he would do so in his own time.

"Mirkwood is beautiful," Strider finally replied, aware of but unresponsive to the silent communication between the men around him; "The trees are even more ancient than in Rivendell, and the power of the Sindarin elves keeps the shadow at bay, for the most part." He paused again, before a wide grin spread across his face. "Now _they_ put on the _best_ parties!" he laughed, succeeding in brushing away the vague tension that hung over them.

"Perhaps we shall see it one day, Amarth," Ancadil said, rolling his eyes and smacking his brother lightly upside the head. Balon let out another rolling peal of laughter, causing even Halbarad to shake his head and chuckle to himself.

They all rounded the final bend in their road, the banks now rising slightly on either side and crowned in parallel lines of carefully tended silver birch trees, orange leaves seeming to line the way for them like a carpet. Lengthening his strides, Strider was the first to pass beneath the ancient renowned archway of stone and living bark, and come at last after months of wandering into the flag-stoned courtyard of his home. He was surprised and warmed to the heart to see a small contingent of familiar faces turn to greet him in joy, before –

"_Estel_!" A pair of joyful voices suddenly called out in unison, and Strider's eyes immediately found his twin elven brothers, Elladan and Elrohir, pushing past the others and racing down the steps to meet him. Unable to keep the grin off his face, Estel bounded toward them and they met half way before Elladan pulled him into a fierce hug, almost yanking the young man off his feet.

"You are back!" Elrohir said, delightedly.

"Apparently so..." came Estel's mumbled reply from the folds of Elladan's shoulder. "Dan – let me down!"

Grinning from ear to ear, the raven haired elf released the man and side stepped, allowing his twin to grasp the man just as tightly, again pulling him off of his feet. Galdal slipped past them to join his fellows in the courtyard and Halbarad acknowledged his man with a swift nod and a thankful gaze. This welcome was exactly what Strider needed to subdue his fears. The young Ranger's gasp elicited collected laughter from the group of men and elves crowded at the top and bottom of the steps. Halbarad and Balon exchanging another set of sly looks as their ward of six months was released from their care.

"Well met, sons of Elrond!" the Captain called at them, saluting with him his hand.

"Well met indeed, Halbarad!" Elladan called back, bowing slightly to them. "I see you managed to bring him back in one piece then?"

"Even as you see... but only just!" Balon teased as Elrohir too released his human brother, and ruffled his hair affectionately. Laughing, Estel shoved his hand away, turning to the others gathered behind the twins. Golden-haired Glorfindel strode forward to grasp the young man's hand and wink at him, cuffing him lightly on the chin. He was followed closely by Erestor, his father's Councillor, and Brethildur, the Master of Horse, the former of which as usual carried some historic scroll and the latter predictably in full length leather riding chaps. Estel gave them a lop-sided grin.

"Welcome home, Estel," Glorfindel said warmly, his ancient and unreadable eyes full of mirth as the twins continued their conversation with the Rangers.

"Aye, he seems to have a penchant for trouble!" Ancadil joined in, causing Strider to begin to protest.

"Peace Strider; you have done well," Halbarad said warmly. "No doubt your father will want to hear of it himself."

"Indeed I do." A deep voice rolled out of the door, followed by the Elven Lord himself. At the top of the steps Elrond paused, unwinding his hands from the sleeves of his long burgundy robes and holding them out to his youngest son. The twins let him pass, and Estel stepped forward almost shyly, bowing low to his adopted father. The doubt that had temporarily been forgotten seemed to flare momentarily in his heart, before he took the hands offered to him. The murmur of voices was stilled.

"Welcome home, Estel," Elrond said quietly, his voice rich and soothing to ears that had long been starved of it. Taking the young man's head in his hands, he gently pulled him forward and kissed his forehead before gazing to his eyes. Ageless grey met dark silver, and for a few moments they did not speak. The Elven Lord took in the subtle changes in his son; the broader shoulders, the straighter stance, the lingering stubble upon his chin – and the flicker of self-doubt that haunted his open gaze. "You have grown," Elrond finally said simply, an almost sad smile on his face. "You are become a man, my son."

Estel stared back, his eyes trusting and searching his father's face for...he knew not what. "Though perhaps not completely, just yet," Elrond continued, smiling and wrapping one arm around Estel's shoulder and pulling him alongside him. Estel released the breath he did not know he had been holding, relaxing into his father's embrace. The action did not go unnoticed by Erestor and Glorfindel, who silently smiled at one another.

"Captain Halbarad, welcome once more to Rivendell," Lord Elrond called in greeting to the Ranger. "I hope that your journey was good?"

Halbarad bowed low, sweeping his hand outwards from his heart in respect. "All was well, my lord."

"I am glad to hear it. Come, you must be weary after your travels; rooms have been prepared for you, as always, and refreshment; should you wish for anything, you need only ask."

The group of Rangers all murmured their gratitude and bowed again.

"And Halbarad? Thank you for returning Estel to me." Elrond added, his sharp eyes imploring those of the Captain, who smiled and nodded in understanding.

"And as for you, my son, I would hear of your journeys in the wilds," Elrond said, turning his attention to Estel once more as he steered him inside, followed closely by the twins. Heading towards the sweeping staircase to their first floor quarters, they paused as Lindur, Elrond's ever faithful Head of Household appeared from a side door, a towering pile of freshly laundered towels teetering in his arms.

"Ah, young Estel!" he said, leaning around the towels to nod his greeting. "I am glad to see you home, and looking so well. I hope you will find your rooms much as ever they were."

"He means despite your brothers' insistence in using them as their own," Elrond breathed in his son's ear, and winking at him.

"I am sure all is more than well, Lindur," Estel replied, grinning at his father and the elf before him. "And it is good to see you too – and to _be_ home."

"I do not doubt it, young one," Lindur laughed, as he went to move past them. "You must excuse me, my lords, I need to get these to our guests..."

"Of course, Lindur, be about your business," Elrond answered, stepping aside. "Elladan, lend him some assistance –"

"Oh, that is unnecessary my lord!" Lindur called back over his shoulder, and manoeuvred backwards into the ground floor bathing rooms.

"Do not forget to offer _him_ the use of the bathing rooms father," Elladan teased his brother as they moved off again. "He smells like he has not had a bath for months." He danced lightly side from Estel's reach, who was still pinned to his father's side and could not follow.

"Elladan, could you at least have waited a while before you began taunting him again?" Elrond said not a little wearily, but his lips seemed to smile of their own accord and contradict his words.

"But father, we have so much time to catch up on," Elladan replied, his face the picture of innocence. Elrohir snickered and elbowed his twin on Estel's behalf.

"Hey – whose side are you on?" Elladan retorted, shoving his twin back.

Elrond fixed them with a stern look as they all began to ascend the stairway. When they reached the entrance to his room, Estel paused on the threshold, gazing in on his old life. Someone, no doubt Lindur, had opened the wide bay window to allow the soft autumn breeze to flit past the light cloth curtains which billowed lazily into the room. It was almost eerie, Estel thought, as he took it all in; it really was exactly as he had left it, all those months ago. The same bed covers, tucked lovingly in by Lindur, the comforter folded precisely at the corners. At his old writing desk, a pot of ink sat patiently waiting, the papers beside it fluttering slightly though weighted down by a heavy ball of clear glass. His first bow still sat untouched in the corner, as it had done for years, barely half the size of the one he wielded now. He shifted his weight slightly, his fingers brushing the sword pommel at his left hip and lingering there.

"Have I changed, father?" he questioned suddenly, a slight frown creasing his brow as he pulled away from his father.

Elrond turned to face him again, looking deep in his eyes. His father's heart longed for Estel to remain just that; but he knew that could never have been. "Yes, Estel; for a time you were not Estel at all, I think."

"No," the human murmured softly in concurrence. "For a while I was Strider. I was different...I still am."

The twins noted the change in their brother and stood seriously on either side of the door frame, flanking their father. Even now, Estel had to suppress the smile at the sight of the twins mimicking the Elven lord, as their concern all caused their eyebrows to quirk in exactly the same place.

"We all change, Estel; it is a part of life," Elrohir said, leaning against the frame.

"But can I go back to being Estel now? Can I just – flit between identities?" Confusion clouded the young man's face as he sought for answers from his family, and he brought his hands up, turning them over and gazing at them.

"Of course you can be Estel now," Elrond said smiling, tipping the young man's chin slightly to realign his eye line. "Right now, you do not need to be anything else. You have done well. I am proud of you."

Estel smiled appreciatively back, holding his father's gaze but still not entirely sure.

"What is it, son?" Elrond prompted when he sensed the hesitancy.

"It is just...something that Ancadil said," Estel sighed, dropping his father's gaze and glancing back into his room. "That we can never be the same twice; things are always changing."

Elrond paused before answering, and the twins exchanged silent looks. "He is correct," Elrond answered softly. "What is lost cannot be regained; becoming an adult has made you lose some of the innocence of childhood you still had in your heart."

"But in my heart...I do not feel like an adult," Estel replied, still confused. He chewed his lip thoughtfully, still not looking at his family.

"Then what do you feel?" Elladan asked gently. In his eyes the youth of over twenty was a mere babe, but he saw through the eyes of the Firstborn; in the world of men, which Estel would one day have to join, he had already come of age. It never ceased to amaze him just how swiftly the bright flame of a mortal life passed him by.

"I feel..." Estel struggled for words, staring at his feet and reminding Elrond of the small, young boy he had once been. "I do not know," he sighed exasperatedly, finally meeting his father's eyes again. Elrond placed his hands on Estel's shoulders.

"Then for now, you need not trouble yourself with it; understanding will come with time," Elrond said, his eyes imploring his son to trust him. Estel silently consented and his frown disappeared. What he needed was rest; perhaps then he could think clearly.

"However," interrupted Elladan abruptly, deciding it was time to dispel the heavy atmosphere; "What you _do_ need to do is shave."

"Elladan!" said Elrond sharply, casting a disbelieving eye at his eldest who held up his hands in defence.

"I am merely commenting that something appears to be taking over Estel's face; that is all..."

"Either that, or you simply have not washed?" Elrohir put in unhelpfully, catching on to his twin's line of thought. The pair were rewarded with a wide grin on the young man's face, one that lit his sea-grey eyes with laughter.

Elrond sighed. "Ilúvatar give me strength..." he muttered, releasing Estel's shoulders. The young man ran a hand absently over his chin, feeling the prickly stubble. "Do you not like it? I had not really thought about it."

"You look _fine_, Estel," Elrond emphasised. "Ignore them. And you two must let your brother get some rest."

"I always thought I had rather good taste," sniffed Elladan, stroking a hand over his own unblemished cheek – as an elf, he had never known the strange daily phenomenon that seemed to plague mortal men.

Estel gave his brother a withering look, not unlike that of his father's. "Good taste for what – a Warg?" Estel taunted, his smile mischievous.

"Oh you will pay for that, little brother –"

"Not now, Elladan," Elrond cut in curtly. "Lindur has prepared the bathing room on this corridor for you Estel, so you will wash and dress –"

"And shave!" added Elrohir, before his father silenced him with a glare.

"And then you will join us for dinner – and you two _will_ give him a chance to rest before you set on him again. I am serious, Elladan."

"It's alright father; it is only because they know they could not take me on at full strength that they try their luck whilst I am tired," Estel grinned, sliding back into his room before either twin could swat him.

"Enough!" said Elrond loudly, causing all three of his sons to suppress their sniggers. "Barely five minutes have you been home, Estel, and already I feel I need a rest. Now do as I say, all of you. Go!" He ushered the laughing twins towards the staircase, standing sentinel at the top whilst they descended. Estel chuckled to himself and dumped his pack on the floor by his desk and unbuckled his sword belt and quiver, grabbing his old, clean clothing from where it had been piled for him on his bed. Heading back out towards the bathing room down the corridor, he paused to see his father waiting at the top of the stairs.

"Thank you father," the young man said, his grin charismatically lop-sided as the elven Lord came towards him. His heart felt lighter than it had a few moments ago, his worries laid aside in the banter with his brothers.

"The three of you are going to be the death of me," Elrond sighed good-naturedly, pulling him into an embrace with strong arms. Estel leant into it, breathing in deeply the warm, familiar smell of his father's robes and sighed contentedly. "I have missed you, little one," Elrond whispered in his ear. Estel screwed up his face, pulling away slightly.

"Father, you cannot keep calling me that now..."

"I know, I know," Elrond laughed lightly, letting his arms fall to his sides. "But truly Estel – welcome home."

With a final light kiss to his forehead, Elrond let the man go along the corridor, watching him until he had disappeared into the bathing room in a swirl of steam.

"Welcome home, indeed." He whispered, and descended the stairs in wake of the twins.

-0-

The sun had set, and the stars of Elbereth were shining high in the inky sky as the final dishes were cleared away from the tables in the Hall of Fire. Flagons of wine (watered safely down Amarthdur had ensured, to raucous laughter from his fellows) stood half empty, a testament to the thirst of the many numbered there that evening. Most of the household had turned out to welcome the young Ranger home, and the Hall was abuzz with merriment and chatter, whilst in the corner a quartet of minstrels lightly thrummed and tuned their instruments. At the centre table, Lord Elrond leant back comfortably in his deep cushioned chair, idly tracing the carved patterns on its arm with one hand, whilst his other held his goblet of honey-white wine. His sharp eyes followed the actions of a group further down the table, as Elladan and Elrohir quizzed their younger brother on his adventures. What had started out as Estel's carefully selected tales had quickly broadened to encompass many of his mishaps as Balon, Ancadil, Amarthdur and Galdal all helped the twins weasel the truth out of the young man. Elrond chuckled to himself as Estel moaned softly at the current story, as far as he could tell involving a rabbit trap and his own foot, which only caused those listening to erupt with laughter. Dropping his head into his hands, silver eyes peaked between his fingers, imploring his father's aide. Elrond shook his dark head, feigning helplessness, which only caused the twins to laugh even harder.

Chuckling next to him, Glorfindel leant over and whispered in his old friend's ear; "You did not teach him to lie very well, did you?" the elder elf winked. His bright eyes were sparkling and his pale cheeks flushed with rose, his braided golden hair spilling down his shoulders.

"I had hoped his brothers might have taught him a thing or two..." Elrond mused,

quirking an eyebrow.

"Ah, you young ones," Glorfindel sighed, leaning back, waiting...

"Do you never tire of that, old friend?" Elrond sighed in response, turning his head to see the Balrog Slayer of ancient renown, who had aided his own father's escape from the fall of Gondolin, now grinning at him roguishly over the top of his wine glass.

"The old ones are the best," Glorfindel beamed back. Elrond simply rolled his eyes, deigning not to reply.

"If telling yourself that helps you to believe it, we shall not hinder you," a rich voice spoke from behind them, and Erestor claimed the vacant seat at Lord Elrond's left. Grabbing a pitcher, he poured himself a glass of wine and settled back in his chair, setting his navy robes precisely, all the while conscious of Glorfindel's pointed glare.

"So nice of you to join us," the blonde elf drawled, though the light never left his eyes; "I was afraid you had become lost in that beloved library of yours – or worse, that the books may have eaten you..."

"Do not be ridiculous, Glorfindel," Erestor chided, glancing at his friend with mild disdain before lighting on the Rangers down the table. "You know full well my books only attack strangers."

Unsuccessfully stifling a snort into his wine, Glorfindel had to quickly lean forward to place the glass on the table before he spilt it.

"Do you know," Elrond said passively, twirling the remaining wine in his goblet and scrutinising it carefully, "I think I can safely say that you two are worse than the twins. And," he added as an after thought, resting his gaze on Erestor, "They are _my_ books."

"Oh no, do not tell him that," Glorfindel laughed quietly, "I think I see mutiny in his eyes..."

"Besides, we have far more decorum than either Elladan or Elrohir," Erestor commented, sipping delicately at his own red wine.

"Yes, but you are also both old enough to know better!" laughed Elrond, before finishing his own wine in one gulp.

Across the Hall, Elrond noted Halbarad conversing with some other elves. His stern face was yet young, his grey eyes strong and glinting in the firelight. He glanced towards the Lord of Imladris, dipping his head in respect. Elrond responded in kind, and motioned slightly with his free hand for the Ranger to join him. Excusing himself from his companions, Halbarad made his way to the Elven Lord's side. At a quick look from Elrond, Glorfindel rose lightly from his chair, offering it to the Captain; "I beg your forgiveness, Lord Elrond; but I long to hear more of your son's adventures." With a bow and a wink, he sauntered down the table to join the laughing group, though not before pinching the wine pitcher Erestor had been using. Grumbling, the dark haired elf also rose and followed, coming to lean on the back of Elladan's chair.

"Please, take a seat, Halbarad," Elrond encouraged him warmly; "Do you wish for more wine?"

"Nay my lord, my glass is still full, though I thank you," the Ranger responded, slipping into the chair on Elrond's right with a small sigh. He crossed his long, booted legs before him as he sank into the velvet cushions, taking a deep swallow of the sweet red liquid. Trickling down his throat, he could feel it warming him to the very bones.

"It does not seem you met with too much trouble on your journeying," Elrond commented softly, not looking at the man.

"Nay; mostly northwards did our paths stray, to the banks of the Hoarwell. Further north, though..." He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "The Orcs are growing bolder by the year, and the northern wastes lie still under a shadow. We drove them up, past Freezeford by the Ettenmoors, but I cannot say how long they will be held at bay. Something is calling to them." Suddenly it seemed to him that the bright warmth of the Hall was dimmed, and he shuddered slightly, though the temperature had not fallen.

Elrond perceived the darkness behind his words, but did not voice his thoughts. The Councils of the wise had long suspected the stirring of Evil in the east and south, but as of yet no clear reports had been made. In his own heart Elrond wondered at the shadow that seemed to be stirring all evil creatures of late, and what exactly had triggered the stirring of that shadow itself.

"The strong arms of the brave Dúnedain have long protected the lands of Eriador; and may they long continue to do so," Elrond said, raising his glass slightly in a toast.

Halbarad nodded his acknowledgement, raising his own glass and drinking deeply. "The western lands and the Shire will ever have our protection; yet our numbers continue to wane, Lord Elrond;" he said, after pausing for thought. "We alone cannot stem the overwhelming tide forever."

Elrond glanced at the Ranger sharply. The foresight of his lineage came briefly to him as he replied, looking down the table at the cringing form of Estel. "We none of us can...it will not be long I think, even by the reckoning of Men, before we are called upon to contribute to the final great deeds of this Age."

Halbarad gazed in wonder at the Elven Lord, whose own life spanned from the First Age of the Eldar Years. "Then we shall be ready to answer the call when that moment comes."

"Yes," Elrond smiled sadly, "I do not doubt that you will."

They fell silent for a while, watching and listening to the growing group of Elves and Rangers gathered around Estel and the twins.

"You raised him well, my lord," Halbarad finally spoke, noting how Elrond's eyes were fixed on his human son. "He is a quick learner, and eager; trusting and loyal, though perhaps a little too much of the former...but that will change with time; and he is one of the stealthiest men I have ever met, a true asset to a hunting party."

"I think we can accredit that to his growing up in this House," Elrond smiled. "He had to practice for years to creep up on his brothers."

"Aye my lord, that rings true," Halbarad agreed with twinkling eyes. "He has grown though, into a fine man."

"Mmn," Elrond murmured, his mind flickering back to his conversation with his son earlier that day.

"He will be a great man, I think, when he has come to full maturity; but until then, he simply needs to learn to accept who he is."

"And you always were a perceptive man, my friend," Elrond smiled. "Now we just need to get _him_ to believe your words."

"Ah, thankfully that is your task now," Halbarad chuckled, draining his glass. "If you will excuse me, my lord, I think I shall retire for the evening."

"Of course, Halbarad; I will see you on the morrow. Sleep well," Elrond wished him well as the Ranger pulled himself to his feet. Watching him go with slumped shoulders, Elrond could not help but to think that it was not only Estel who bore a heavy burden in these wild days.

For a while longer, he continued to watch and listen as the talk surrounding his sons began to die down, and the minstrels began to play a quiet lilting rhythm from the corner. He hummed to himself, drumming out the beat with his long, slender figures. The longer he watched, the more he noticed Estel remaining silent, resting his head in his hands, his eyes drooping. The Rangers about him gradually began to drift back towards their sleeping quarters, clapping the young man lightly on the back as they left. Sighing deeply, the Elven Lord drew himself to his feet and paced down the table, coming to rest behind Estel's chair. Glorfindel watched him idly from beside Elrohir across the table, smiling at the exhausted human.

"Estel, you need to rest," Elrond said softly, leaning over and speaking in his son's ear. Estel nodded absently in response, leaning back in his chair and looking upwards at his father. His pupils were wide in the half light of the fire, his cheeks a rosy red from the wine. A sleepy smile brushed his lips before a yawn escaped him, which he hastily hid with a hand.

"Let your brothers take you to your rooms," Elrond implored, laying a gentle hand on his son's head. For once, the young man did not argue but allowed Elladan to pull him to his feet. Elrohir joined him from the other side of the table, and between them they began supporting Estel towards the stairs. Three calls of, "Goodnight, father," floated to his ears before they disappeared up out of view. Erestor chuckled lightly as they went.

"I strongly suspect our respite of peace may be over, my friend."

Elrond released a deep sigh, still looking at the staircase. "Why do I get the feeling you are right, Erestor?"

"I am always right," came the grinning response as Elrond settled himself back down in a vacant chair.

"Here we go again," Glorfindel said, rolling his eyes.

"Oh bother the pair of you," Elrond reprimanded good-naturedly, refilling his goblet.

Upstairs, Elladan continued to hold his human brother upright whilst Elrohir dimmed the small lamps around Estel's room. Slowly, they lowered him down to his bed, rewarded by a soft groan as he sank into the deep feather mattress. Elrohir knelt by his feet, nimbly pulling off the tired man's boots and swinging his legs around, allowing him to lie down.

"Must you still treat me like a child?" Estel muttered drowsily, his words slurred by wine and sleep.

"Only so long as you act like one," Elrohir replied, quietly tittering to himself. Estel gave a soft snort in reply, his eyes already fighting to close.

"Don't," Elladan commanded, laying a hand on his brother's forehead; "Stop fighting it Estel, and just sleep. You are home now, and you are safe."

"Not with you two around..."

"Hush now, little brother," Elrohir said, crossing his arms as he rose to lean against his twin, stifling his own yawn. "Go to sleep."

One last smile ghosted across Estel's lips as he finally gave into his body's demands. The twins stood sentinel over him for a few minutes, listening as the man's breathing became deep and steady. Gently, they between them pulled the duvet up to his chest. Elrohir fought against a second yawn.

"You are as bad as him," Elladan tutted, nudging his twin from the room.

"Oh be quiet, you mother hen," Elrohir retorted, leaning against the doorframe and casting a final look over his sleeping brother. "Or save your mothering for him, at least."

Bickering, they closed the door to and headed for their own rooms, leaving Estel to wander safe, at long last, in the dreams of his family, and his home.

-0-

Far away in the starlight, westward across the wild of Eriador and past the weathered top of Amon Sûl, a lone hunched figure stole out of the Prancing Pony Inn in the town of Bree. Limping slightly, a heavy hood covered its head so that only steam rising in the frosty air gave a clue to the hidden face. Gloved hands tightly gripped a gnarled walking stick as it headed for the stables, swinging it in low circles upon the ground immediately in front of it. Whistling lowly, a response came in the form of a soft whiney from one of the stables, and the head of a golden horse poked outwards, searching for her mistress.

She knew that she could wait until daylight before she travelled – but she had lingered here long enough; and besides, the cloudless sky provided more than enough light for her horse to find her way by. She preferred travelling by night anyway; it was purer somehow, and always much easier to detect the approach of another traveller.

She saddled the mare with some difficulty, always reaching out with her hands to feel the soft warmth before pulling on the bridle, and tightening the girth. Struggling up into the seat, she gripped the pommel tightly as her arthritic knees screamed in protest. Getting used to her body's ageing creaks had taken some time, and she was still not altogether pleased with it. Perhaps he would have something to dim the pain, even if only for a while.

Her horse nickered softly, and she nudged forward as her rider settled herself. Carefully tucking her cloak in around her, the figure whispered something too low for mortal ears; but the mare responded immediately, setting off at a brisk trot toward the town gates. The guard grunted at her ill-humouredly, but did not deny her passage, and soon she had left the lights of Bree behind her, glimmering on their hill top. This journey, her final journey, took her eastward; and following the road lit like a silver ribbon in the starlight, she headed for her destination in the silent night.

And with every step the golden mare took, a shadow stirring in the North grew

stronger, and sped on dark winds ever southward...

**To be continued**

**Please R&R**

**Loadsa**** love, Estel xxx**


	2. Galrafëa

**Disclaimer: Oh treacle, if I could be making money on this I would be! All rights to whomsoever they belong if you recognise it.**

**A/N: Bit of a mammoth chapter this one, but it may have to keep you going for a while – I am right in the middle of organising a move to a uni ****300 miles**** away from where I live, so its all a little chaotic! I realise that to my American brethren that may not seem an insurmountable distance, but that is basically the length of ****England :s**** Also, this mini suspense cliffi will make more sense if you have read _Second Star_, but I will explain all in the next chapter. Anyway, thank you to all those who reviewed; now everyone's favourite Prince makes his appearance here so I shall keep you no longer. Enjoy!**

**Chapter Two: Galrafëa**

Despite the chill in the air, the glistening of sweat beaded his brow as he circled his opponent, balanced lightly on the balls of his feet. Clear, sharp eyes detected the slightest movements of the elf across from him, the breath of each rising in a pale mist between them. Suddenly his opponent lunged out, feinting to the left then stepping to the right at the last possible second, but Legolas was ready. Deflecting the blow aimed at his temple, he swung under his opponents out-flung arm and side stepped swiftly behind him, knocking the other elf off balance for the merest of moments.

An impressed murmur rippled through the crowd that had gathered to watch the Crown Prince of Mirkwood at combat with Rómen, the Captain of the Royal Guard. Each wore a light, fitted shirt and thin leggings, their hair braided up and pinned to prevent it blinding them in the bracing autumn breeze. Lómë, Rómen's younger sister, was stood at the fore of the crowd with a light woollen shawl about her shoulders to stave off the little of the cold her elven blood could feel. She traced a delicate finger over soft rose lips absently, her eyes narrowed as she followed the moves of two of the Greenwood's most skilled warriors.

They were circling again, Legolas' cool sapphire eyes poring into his friend's but Rómen held the gaze unflinchingly, his own glittering emerald orbs closely monitoring his Prince. They had been at this for nigh on half an hour already, but both were so evenly matched that neither had really had the upper hand at any point. Millennia of practicing together meant each knew the other intricately well, rendering the element of surprise somewhat absent. Legolas, however, had been keeping different company from his friend these past few years, and had a new trick up his sleeve.

Bulking himself up he suddenly charged forwards, forcing Rómen to step backwards as the Prince dropped his right shoulder and slammed into his friend's stomach. Nearly winded, Rómen gritted his teeth and stumbled back a pace or two, trying to hold his ground, but it was all that the Prince needed. Dipping under his friend's arm and suddenly straightening up behind him, he held Rómen's arm in a lock and lightly kicked his knees out under him so that he forced to kneel on the floor. A grin had barely touched Legolas' lips however before, quick as lightening, Rómen kicked out behind him and tackled the Prince's legs, knocking one down so that he too was kneeling. Excited cries rose from the crowd for both competitors, as Legolas' grip on Rómen's arm faltered just enough for him wriggle it free and throw his weight backwards, throwing his friend on his back and landing heavily on top of him. Surprised, Legolas did not have time to move out of the way as Rómen deliberately dug his shoulder into his friend's chest, pinning him to the ground. A count started at the sidelines, but it had barely reached three before Legolas had used his knees to push Rómen upwards, giving him just enough space to free himself, swing his legs over and straddle the Captain, gripping his wrists tightly to the ground.

"Do you yield?" Legolas asked, his fair cheeks flushed with exertion and his eyes sparkling.

In response, Rómen pushed his arms along the ground above his head and using the force of his friend's own grip against him, unbalancing him just enough to heave him over, and straddle the Prince in his turn.

"Do you?" he enquired, panting slightly.

The count had restarted, accompanied by chanting and clapping from the spectators. Legolas struggled for a moment, attempting the same move Rómen had, but of course the Captain had been expecting that and prevented the forward movement. Resigned to the fact that there was simply no way out of this, he stopped struggling and rolled his eyes.

"I yield," he said, sighing good-naturedly, still breathing quickly.

"Sorry, didn't quite catch that?" Rómen's grin was roguish.

"Do not push your luck, friend," Legolas growled, only causing his friend to laugh. Releasing the Prince and jumping to his feet, he held out a hand to help him up, to the cheers and applause of the audience. Brushing himself off, Legolas clapped his Captain on the shoulder, shaking his head and trying to keep the other elf's infectious grin from spreading across his own face.

"You were not supposed to react like that," he said warningly, waggling a finger.

"Do you really think you can pull a move like that and not expect me to respond in kind?" Rómen laughed. "This is what happens when humans rub off on you, my Prince."

"Not humans in general, just one in particular," Legolas chuckled. "How did you know I had copied one of Estel's moves?"

"I watched him use it on his brother's when they were here last year," admitted the Captain, as the crow began to disperse around them, filtering back towards the Palace and their own homes. "He does not have their speed, so he uses his bulk instead – you however, are not bulkier than me!"

"Ah, was that the reason? I shall have to bear that in mind."

Lómë approached them from the sideline, bearing a thicker outer tunic for them both. "That was such a close match!" she said, "For a moment there, I believed you had him beaten, Legolas!"

"For a moment there, so did I," Legolas laughed, sliding his arms in the cotton garment.

"Do you really have such little faith in me, sister?" Rómen said, his face aghast. Lómë shoved him lightly, eliciting chuckles from them all. "What does this bring our tally to now, you're majesty?"

Legolas rolled his eyes, knowing full well what was coming next. "I do not remember, Rómen, but no doubt you are about to tell me."

"You are trailing me by five games," the Captain predictably responded.

"I thought it was four and a half?" frowned Legolas.

"A half? How can you have won half a game?" said Rómen incredulously.

"One would suspect it was because _you_ lost the other half, brother," Lómë said innocently, her green eyes sparkling with mirth.

The light banter continued as they made their way down the well-worn woodland path to the gates of the Palace. Pausing outside, Legolas' voice was stilled as his brow creased, gazing up at the heights of the Palace mountain.

"Have you spoken with your father yet?" Rómen asked quietly, no longer joking.

"No...I was intending to do so tonight," Legolas admitted, running a hand through his braided hair.

Lómë glanced between the two of them, not altogether sure what they were talking about. The confusion must have shown on her face, because Legolas turned to her kindly and said, "I wish to journey to Rivendell, to see Estel again."

"Then you must go soon; winter is coming, the mountain road will be impassable before long." She bit her lip, realising that was not what troubled her Prince and friend.

"Precisely; all the more reason for you to talk to him as soon as possible," said Rómen emphatically, giving his friend a pointed look. When Legolas nodded but did not respond, the Captain sighed; he knew as well as his friend did that the King would not see the subject so simply, and even after twelve long months he would still be loathe to let his son leave.

"I must go," he said, sorry for his friend but fully aware there was little else he could do. "I am on duty tonight, and need to freshen up."

"Of course," Legolas smiled, shaking his head to dispel his anxiety. "If I do not see you later, I will see you on the morrow – I want a rematch!"

"Anything you say, you're majesty!" Rómen grinned, falling into a flamboyant bow. Lómë rolled her eyes at her brother's antics.

"Captain of the Guard indeed..." she muttered, pushing him in the direction of their home. "Go, or you will not have time to dine before you leave, and it will only make you grumpy."

"Apparently I have my marching orders," Rómen teased, and winked at his friend over his shoulder. Waving them off, Legolas pushing through the towering gates, chuckling to himself.

Several hours later, he was sat comfortably before a crackling fire in his father's private chambers, his eyes watching the hypnotic flames disinterestedly. They danced and weaved, casting flickering shadows upon the smooth chamber walls and ornate hangings. His father sat opposite him, leant over a small table, scrutinising the contents of a long scroll. His wine goblet was placed near his hand, and he tapped a slender finger lightly on his chin as he considered the request before him. In truth he should not have been working at all, but Legolas did not mind; he knew his father liked to keep on top of the affairs of his Kingdom, and strongly believed in leading by example.

The hour, however, was growing late, and Legolas could soon see his father's eyes beginning to look, not read, and remain stationed on one part of the scroll for several minutes.

"Father?" he ventured, leaning forward and laying a hand on his father's arm.

"Mmn?" the King replied distractedly, starting slightly at the sound of his son's voice.

"You are weary," said Legolas pointedly. "You have been staring at the same line for some time now; it can wait until the morning. Take your rest."

Thranduil smiled tiredly at the genuine concern on his son's face. He thought to protest, but Legolas read it in his eyes. "It will still be there in the morning," he said earnestly.

"Unfortunately," Thranduil replied, smiling wearily. "Very well, you shall have your wish. It is of no great importance anyway." Rolling the parchment up, he reached across and left it on his desk, then settled back into his chair with a sigh. "Tell me of your sparing match today. I hear it attracted quite a crowd."

"Ah," said Legolas, wincing slightly. His muscles had that dull, satisfying stiffness that comes from vigorous but enjoyable exertion. "Yes, it would have done..."

"I am sorry I could not be there, but I had Council matters to attend to."

"Of course, father, do not worry," Legolas said quickly, waving off the apology. He knew his father meant it; it was just the price they paid for the privileged position they held. "Besides, it is probably for the best that you were not there – Rómen beat me."

"So I heard!" Thranduil chuckled quietly. "Though apparently it was a very tight match?"

"As always, father."

"Well, we shall have to dock his wages as a warning," Thranduil winked. The wine always loosened him up a little, made him feel more at ease. Legolas knew that now was his best chance, and took a deep breath before plunging in.

"Father, I have been thinking..."

The Elven King's eyes locked on his son's, narrowing slightly. He knew that tone of voice very well.

"Yes?" he prompted.

"I have been home a good while now; the borders are holding up well, there have been no skirmishes to the south or east for months. The Palace is all in order, and...well, truth be told, I have it in my heart to visit Rivendell, and Estel."

Thranduil remained silent, piercing his son with his stare.

"Winter is coming on, and I would need to leave soon if I am to make it safely through the mountains." Despite the vague anxiety in his stomach he held his father's gaze, his own eyes open and honest, silently asking for permission.

Thranduil sighed, looking down into his wine glass. "You have barely been home, Legolas, and yet you wish to be gone again..."

Legolas did not point out that he had in fact be home for mush shorter durations in the past, knowing that it was his father's love for him that held him back.

"I will return with the spring, father, I promise."

"And what of your people, Legolas? They still need you. Our duty to them must come before all things, even those things that we desire." His voice was stern, and his face stubbornly set. So, however, was his son's.

"Which is why I only ask now, when the borders are safe. Our people are settled, father," Legolas said gently, not wishing to be disrespectful. "It is to you they look for leadership."

"You are their Prince, Legolas, you bear this responsibility with me," Thranduil reminded him, quirking an eyebrow and tilting his head towards the Prince.

"And gladly so; yet still, there is a world beyond our borders that I cannot forsake."

Thranduil sighed again, knowing his son was referring to the young Ranger, Strider. Since his actions last year, the Elven King no longer doubted the man's honour and indeed, would have welcomed him to Mirkwood in tribute to his bravery, but that did not stop him begrudging the human his son's company at his own expense.

"I do not know that I am yet ready to part with you, my son," the King said quietly, meeting Legolas' eyes again, eyes so similar to his mother's. The sight of his son bound and drugged in the small marble courtyard had been seared into his memory, and had haunted his dreams for months afterward, and now it flashed across his vision again.

Legolas held his father's gaze, knowing the pain he was reliving. Yet he could not simply remain within the Palace all of his life; the world was a dangerous place, and if the events of last year were anything go to by, he was not necessarily any safer within his own home. He knew his father meant well, but he was beginning to get irked at the comfortable life the King wanted him to live. There was so much of the world he wanted to see, so much he wanted to do, and he knew his spirit could not be caged forever, no matter how beautiful or well meant that cage was.

"I will come back to you, father, I promise," Legolas repeated; "Winter will pass swiftly enough, and before you realise it I shall return with the blooming of the elanor. Lord Elrond will not let any harm befall me in his home."

"As I let none befall his sons in ours?" the King laughed mirthlessly, a little more harshly than he had meant to. Legolas frowned a little, his face the mirror image of his father's, but he did not respond.

"I would not forbid you to go – and yet nothing I say will dissuade you, will it?"

Slowly, Legolas shook his head, his resolve firm.

Throwing up his hand in resignation, Thranduil gave in. "Very well. To Rivendell you shall go, with my blessing rather than without it, seeing as how you shall go whatever I will." Drinking deeply from his wine, he watched as Legolas seemed to visibly relax, shrinking his shoulders back into the chair. He knew his son loved him, but children could just be so...independent, at the most inopportune of times.

"You had better get a good night's rest; winter is coming, even as you say, and there is no reason for you to delay your departure."

"Yes, father," Legolas replied, recognising the dismissal and obediently rising to his feet. "I have a few state matters to finish before I go, but I shall leave within a few days."

"Very well – off with you then, let your father have his rooms to himself," Thranduil said, crossing his long legs and settling back to watch the dancing flames. Smiling, Legolas swept into a low bow before kissing his father lightly on the head. Thranduil looked up at him, surprised.

"Goodnight father," Legolas whispered, and leaving the room he silently shut the door. Thranduil watched him go, shaking his head, and wondering on the trials of unruly sons.

-0-

Lord Elrond leant against the doorway of the balcony in his private chambers, absently-mindedly fingering the hidden sapphire ring on his right hand. His sharp eyes were narrowed but misted, gazing into the middle distance with keen interest and yet they were unseeing. A gentle breeze played across his dark hair, sighing gently of the winter flowing from the north, and carried on across the treetops of the full harvested orchards. Below him the River rushed down through the gorge, leaping over waterfalls and gullies, catching and stealing away the drifting leaves. The day seemed perfectly autumnal, golden and swaying as nature began its gradual retreat before the later months of the year.

Something, however, was wrong.

He could not explain it – it was unlike anything he had ever experienced before, and not even the gift of foresight could help him unveil the shadow that seemed to lie between him, and whatever it was that drew close. It had begun a few days ago now, and was growing steadily stronger; a vague sense of unease, of external permeating anxiety whose original he could not place. Oddly enough, whenever he did try to identify it, all that he could think of was... his brother. He closed his eyes and leant his head back, sighing deeply. All the ages of the world had passed between them, and the seas and lands and skies had been changed beyond recognition from when they had been boys along the shores of western Beleriand. He had come to terms with their parting, yes, he had accepted it long centuries ago; but deep in his heart, Elrond knew he would never stop missing his twin. He thought about him often, especially in the spring or when he drew in a deep lungful of salty sea air. He thought he could see him sometimes in the way Elladan's eyes would glint when he teased his brothers, or in the way Elrohir would chew his lip when deep in thought...even sometimes in Estel. As the young human had grown, more and more often he would wonder what his brother would say if he could see his descendent now, the last of his line in Númenor. _Probably something sarcastic_, Elrond mused to himself; some things would never change.

"You called for us, father?" Elladan called, as though summoned by his thoughts. Interrupted from his reverie, he pulled himself forcefully from it, opening his eyes and turning back inside.

"Yes my sons, come in."

"Glorfindel and Erestor are with us all also," Elrohir added.

The door swung open through the deep carpet and Elrond's two closest friends and councillors entered the main chamber with Elladan and Elrohir, just as the Lord of Imladris reached it.

"That is well – thank you for coming," Elrond smiled at them all. "I hope I did not interrupt your own activities too much?"

"Oh we are ever at your beck and call, old friend, you know that," Glorfindel chuckled back. "Besides, you rescued me I think; your sons are planning something."

Elladan graced a look of feigned offence, whilst Elrohir rolled his eyes.

"When are they not?" Elrond sighed, motioning for them to take the thickly cushioned seats by the shuttered bay windows. "Can I get you anything – tea, perhaps, or wine?"

"So this will be a long meeting then," Erestor nodded, catching the eye of his golden-haired friend. "You know he only offers us tea when he wants us for _hours_."

Elrond fixed the other elf with a pointed look, causing Erestor to stifle his smile.

"Yes, my lord, a tea would be perfect."

Unseen by their companions, the twins exchanged silent looks, sobering immediately. Yes, this did mean their father required their company for a while – but such a secluded and private meeting spoke to them of a serious matter. What it was exactly, neither could guess.

Nodding, Elrond poured out five cups from a teapot that Lindur had brought him not long ago. The searing water was now a perfect drinking temperature, and the soothing scent of herbs wafted through the room.

"So what is it that so urgently requires hours of our attention?" Erestor asked mildly over his cup, taking a small sip.

Elrond held his own mug in both hands, frowning as the herb fragments began to settle at the bottom. Erestor watched, waiting patiently for an answer, but it was Glorfindel who spoke.

"You can feel it too, can you not, old friend?" His voice was serious where only moments ago it had been lighter, his bright eyes scrutinising the younger Elf Lord. The twins glanced between their father and old mentor sharply.

Slowly Elrond nodded. "During this last week it has been growing...but I cannot say what it is, nor why." It did not surprise him that Glorfindel should be sensitive to this too; to have been granted a second life from the Halls of Mandos was no small thing, and the renowned Balrog-Slayer had ever been perceptive of mind.

Erestor sat between them looking puzzled. "I do not understand."

"Something approaches Imladris," Glorfindel said simply, now fixing his gaze on his friend. "Though I do not know whether its intent is for good or ill – only that it is an unknown entity."

"What is this you speak of, father?" Elladan frowned, leaning forward to rest his elbow on one knee, his fair brow furrowed. Elrohir's face mirrored his twins', though he remained reclined, resting his right foot upon his left knee.

"My heart troubles me, though I know not why." Elrond admitted. His sons had long since come to their full stature of mind, and had proven themselves a hundred times or more; thus did he know that in such counsels he could be frank with them, and they with him. "If Mithrandir were here, perhaps he could help shed some light on this..." That, they all knew, was wishful thinking. The wandering wizard was always abroad, though few ever knew where, and without a fixed abode he was nigh on impossible to find; though he did have a habit of cropping up exactly when he was needed the most.

"What does your heart say to you?" Glorfindel questioned, his tea as yet untouched on the table.

"I do not think it bodes well," Elrond said heavily, the frown on his face so like that of his sons. "Its form is hidden from me, as is its purpose; but I fear its proximity to this place may cause more harm than good."

"Is there any way that we can prepare?" Elrohir questioned.

"If we do not know what we are facing, that could be hard indeed, my son."

"Perhaps...then again, perhaps there may be something we can do. How does this...entity feel?" Erestor asked, placing his tea cup on the table.

"How do you mean?" Glorfindel frowned.

"Well, does it feel ancient? Any known ancient magic will be catalogued in the Library; it may be we have the answer here in Imladris already."

Elrond nodded. This had not occurred to him before. Absently his mind skimmed over the wealth of information kept within the innumerable books and scrolls housed in the Library of Rivendell. He paused before answering, gazing thoughtfully again out of the window. "I think it is approaching from the North," he said finally.

"What of its being?" Elladan asked. "A physical onslaught will require tactical preparation; and the position and strength of the valley with do much to help shield us."

"Not all reckonable forces are in literal form, my young Lord," Glorfindel smiled.

"Be that as it may, it may be worth checking the valley's defences. Long they have remained unused," Elrohir noted, thinking along his brother's line of enquiry, and looking to his father.

"Check them if you will," Elrond replied slowly. "Though I do not believe it will have any effect. I do not feel this is a physical power we are dealing with."

"There is a collection of scrolls on the frozen north," Erestor commented; "We may find some clues in there."

Again, Elrond nodded. He knew that without more information, there was little else they could do, yet still...it was frustrating. Anything that caused him anxiety with its approach seemed to him to wish them no good.

"Very well, start your search there."

"And we will begin a boundary check," Elladan said, glancing at his twin.

"We can take Estel with us," Elrohir added as an afterthought for them both.

"Do not stray beyond the valley's confines though," Elrond warned, "Especially not with Estel; until I know what we are dealing with it would be safer for us all to remain near home." Elrond knew his foster son was a grown adult by mortal reckoning; yet still, he had barely been returned to him for a week. He wanted the young man to get the rest he needed, and his father's heart spoke ever of safety.

The twins nodded, guessing in part the logic behind their father's reasoning. Still, he spoke the truth, and the advice was wise.

"If you take the eastern border, I shall take the west," Glorfindel said to the twins, finally picking up his cooling tea.

"I would rather you did not venture to the northern borders alone," Elrond said, the shadow on his heart indeed deepening when he thought of the north; "Ensure that whomsoever journeys that way is in a fair sized group. There is safety in numbers."

"And the work will be done the quicker for it," Erestor added.

"We shall go as soon as we may then," Elladan said, rising to his feet. Elrohir followed suit by his side. "Estel admitted this morning he wished to see his old haunts again."

"He should be careful what he wishes for," Elrohir grinned.

"Be careful," Elrond said pointedly, fixing them both with his gaze. "Go just to determine the condition of the boundaries, if you intend to go today; if further work is required you can return later with the provisions you need."

"The eastern borders should be the sturdiest; ever the mountains have guarded our flank." Erestor said.

"Yet also can they be the source of most danger," Glorfindel said, knowingly glancing at his old friend. "Still, they should not require much work I think."

"We will go today, and return before with the nightfall with a report," Elladan nodded to his father.

"Then go well," Elrond smiled. The twins dipped their heads to the company respectfully before exiting the chambers. Erestor watched them go with a frown.

"What are you thinking, old friend?" Glorfindel asked.

"I do not know;" the councillor admitted, his eyes momentarily dark; "This just does not seem right. We have not ever encountered something like this before."

"We will endure, just as we always do." Glorfindel smiled.

"Yes," murmured Erestor into his tea cup; "But for how long?"

-0-

The ranges of the Misty Mountains rose hard upon their left side as they faced south, the very tips obscured from vision by the wreath of the heavens. The temperature was beginning to drop as evening fell, a biting wind was picking up from the North and Estel was glad that he had a roaring fire and a warm bed to return to. The wilds could be inhospitable enough in the summer; he did not much fancy braving their haunts during a winter.

The young man sat astride Pilgrim, pulling his cloak tightly about him and watching his brothers with fascination. After they had briefed him on their father's words, and their mission, they had followed the little used mountain bound paths. All afternoon they had scouted the eastern perimeter of Rivendell, and every stop had been the same as this. Elladan, his arms out-stretched, nodded briskly at his twin, motioning slightly with his head to the left. Elrohir silently concurred, closing his eyes and reaching out into the empty air with his hands palm out, seeming to gently feel the nothingness with expert precision. Sighing, he opened his eyes again and stepped away from whatever it was exactly he had been examining.

"It should not take too long to realign," he murmured quietly for his brother's ears only. "As Glorfindel said, the eastern borders often pose the greatest danger, and thus their maintenance has not been too badly neglected."

"Still, it would be best to see to it soon," Elladan replied, rubbing his eyes to clear them. Glancing back at his human brother, he smiled slightly at the hopelessly lost look on the young man's face. "We are finished Estel; we shall return home now."

At the sound of his master's voice, Flame's head shot up from the tuft of grass he was grazing on several meters away and trotted high-spiritedly over. His rich chestnut coat caught the deep golden rays of the westward sun, as it broke free of the grey clouds somewhere near the coast. Summer watched her companion with only mild interest as Elrohir approached her, nuzzling the hollow of the elven twin's neck and mingling her rich dark mane with his own.

"How do you know what you are looking for?" Estel asked curiously, as the twins each leapt nimbly upon their steed's backs. With gentle words they turned them homeward, for the elven horses wore no harness, and they started down the rocky path to the hidden valley.

"Father taught us, long ago," Elladan answered as Flame led the way.

"Imladris is protected by more than just steep walls and vigilance," Elrohir expanded, his voice soft. "There is ancient magic here, woven by father when first he founded the city; then when the High King Gil-Gilad led his host hither from the coast at the end of the Second Age, those spells were strengthened to hide the army from the Enemy's eyes, lest he should spy them before they were prepared to reveal their full might."

Estel's eyes widened slightly. Of course his home was old beyond mortal reckoning, he knew that; yet it still amazed him even now, to hear tales concerning it that were a part of his own history. Neither did it surprise him to learn of the many ways in which Imladris was defended; one did not have to know there was magic in Rivendell to be able to feel it.

"That was millennia ago, of course; now father just maintains the barriers to hide the valley for its own sake. Such days of glory are long past," Elladan added almost wistfully. The waning power of the Elves ever saddened him, no matter how distant it seemed within the safe, preserved haven of his home.

Estel remained quietly listening, trusting steadfast Pilgrim to pick her own path over the unsteady ground. It was good to ride her again, after months of walking; Brethildur had kept her well, as ever he did, and her tack gleamed from the thorough polishing it had received.

"As are the days of war that went with them," Elrohir reminded his twin. "We have peace now, at least."

"Halbarad says this peace is not what once it was," Estel commented, looking over at the younger twin. "He says the Orcs may not be straying further yet, but their numbers are growing greater, deep within the Mountains."

Elladan murmured his agreement. "And due to the bravery of his Rangers, we need not feel the reach of that cold arm by our home." The conversation was little to his liking in its current course, so he changed it. "And speaking of the Rangers, I see father has persuaded them to linger a while?"

"I do not think they required much encouragement," grinned Estel. "Amarthdur likes our wine too much."

"Or rather you keep plying him with it," Elrohir teased. "Do not deny it Estel, I watch you every evening."

Estel shrugged, the smile still on his lips. "If he is keeping you all entertained, that means I am not the one you pick on!"

"Such ruthless tactics, little brother," Elladan laughed, looking back over his shoulder with an innocent smile, their previous topic forgotten; "Wherever did you learn those?"

"Where indeed, brother?" Estel winked.

"Bad habits picked up from the wilds, I've no doubt," Elrohir said, wrinkling his nose in disdain.

"No, bad habits picked up from _you_!"

"He appears to have forgotten his manners, brother," Elladan said, pulling Flame to a halt and turning back to face his twin and the Ranger. "We should re-teach him, I think; what say you?"

Estel stopped Pilgrim just out of range of either twin, suspiciously watching them both. Their identical grey eyes glittered with mischief.

"Whatever you are thinking, do not do it!" he warned, backing Pilgrim up a few steps when the twins made to advance. Flame tossed his head excitedly, feeling the change in the air.

"I agree wholeheartedly, brother," Elrohir smiled wickedly, ignoring the young man's words.

Before Estel could think, both twins raised their fingers to their mouths – and whistled, a quick rhythm of high notes. Beneath him, Estel felt Pilgrim's centre of balance begin to tip and suddenly he was tumbling backwards over her quarters, as her forelegs rose obediently into the air in a neat and tidy rear. Landing hard on his backside, he rolled up the hill before gravity stopped his motion. Groaning, he pulled himself to his feet as the sound of ringing laughter floated around the trees. Rubbing his hip, he glared as hard as he could at Elladan, who was bent double over Flame's neck, gripping his side as tears threatened to overspill from his eyes.

"That was _not_ funny!"

"Oh – to the contrary, little brother!" Elrohir managed, also clutching at his ribs. Pilgrim was watching him with wide, innocent eyes.

"Well done girl, well done!" Elladan praised her, leaning forward to ruffle her mane.

"Why on earth would you teach her to do that?!" Estel burst out, coming alongside the mare once more and taking the reins. "And why would _you_ let them teach you?!" he muttered furiously at her, putting his foot roughly in the stirrup and pulling himself up. Gingerly, he tried to seat himself comfortably in the saddle. "I cannot believe you did that!" He glared once more at the twins before pushing Pilgrim past them and down the hill.

"Oh come now, little brother, what else were we supposed to do with our time whilst you were away?" Elladan tried to say reasonably around his sniggers.

"You managed to entertain yourselves quite well for centuries _before_ I was born!" Estel said hotly over his shoulder.

"Yes, but you have such wonderfully predictably reactions..." Elrohir protested, before breaking off into peals of laughter.

"I wonder if you will be laughing so hard when I tell father what you taught Pilgrim to do," Estel smirked, turning in the saddle to watch their faces suddenly fall and their laughter fail in their throats.

"Now Estel –"

"Do not try to weasel out of this one!" he said, waggling a finger at them. "I can only think that you enjoy the lectures father gives you, you seem to invite them often enough."

"Estel, come now, little brother, let us not be rash –"

"_You_ already have been, why leave me out?"

"Estel, it is only to a certain whistle that she will react –"

"Well, that's just fine then..." came the sarcastic response.

"Of course, brother, to tell father, you will have to reach him first." Elladan's challenge hung in the chilled air. Then with a burst of sudden speed, Flame leapt forward and flew past Pilgrim in a dash of chestnut, closely followed by a far more composed, though no less swift Summer.

"Hey!" Estel started as Pilgrim coiled and skittered beneath him, eager to be after her fellows. "You cheated!"

"So try and catch us little brother!" Elrohir's laughing voice called back. Rolling his eyes skywards Estel put his heels to Pilgrim's side and they too were off, pelting down the winding path and dodging low hanging branches as the twins flitted in and out of view.

Despite himself (and the developing bruises on his rump), he felt his heart soaring as Pilgrim raced over the ground, her coal mane streaming like silk with the speed of her flight, but never once did she lose her footing. A stubborn grin spread across his face as he turned along a higher, parallel path to that the twins had taken, blocked as it was by a fallen oak further up. Glancing down several feet below him where the twins raced on, and then further ahead where the paths rejoined, he spurred Pilgrim towards the obstacle and leaning forward up her neck allowed her her head as she leapt it in one, fluid motion, forelegs tucked neatly underneath her. Landing nimbly with her pace undiminished she galloped on to where the forks joined, pulling just ahead of Flame as the stallion reached the same point.

"Now who must catch who?" Estel laughed as Elladan cried out in dismay, and Flame was forced to shorten his stride where the path was wide enough for only one rider. He snorted indignantly but Elladan patted his neck.

As the path began to widen again, Estel slowed Pilgrim to a steady canter and eventually a gentle trot as the twins came up on either side of him. Flame tossed his head impatiently, his nostrils flared.

"I think someone is a bad loser!" Estel grinned at the stallion.

"It is not often that he loses," Elladan replied, patting his horse's neck again.

"That was quite a jump on your part, Estel," Elrohir said pointedly, as Summer's fluid gait matched that of Pilgrim. "And at quite a speed."

"Aye – if you wish to break your neck, do not do so on our watch, if you please."

"_She_ would never let me fall," Estel said, laying a hand on her withers; "Fortunately, Brethildur trained her better than either of you did!"

"Ai Elbereth, you shall not be parted from that grievance, shall you?"

"Not for a while yet, no, I do not think so."

The carried on at a trot, for there was still quite some ground to cover before they reached the gates of their home, though the rarely-used path was mostly not smooth enough to push their steeds any faster. Thus it was with light hearts and banter that they passed once more beneath the archway of Rivendell as the light of the sun faded, to find that Glorfindel had arrived barely moments before them from the West. The courtyard was lit with torches and lanterns by Brethildur, who had already passed the Lord's grey stallion to another of the stable hands, and came to stand by Summer's head as the brother's dismounted, rubbing the soft space between her eyes gently.

"All went well, my lords?" he asked good-naturedly, his eyes automatically flickering over the three horses and checking for superficial injury before they lighted on the riders.

"Aye Brethildur, as well as could be," Elladan nodded, his eye on Glorfindel, who stood waiting at the bottom of the steps.

"I am afraid that depends entirely on the definition of '_well'_," Estel began, but was quickly cut off when Elrohir gave him a sharp jab with his elbow.

"Just fine, thank you Brethildur," Elrohir said, glaring pointedly at his human brother before pushing him in front towards his twin. Estel gestured hopelessly with his hands as he was driven away, and Brethildur chuckled to himself as he motioned for the horses to follow him into the large barn.

As they approached, Glorfindel noted the slight limp in the human's stride, and the way he favoured his left leg almost imperceptibly. He quirked an eyebrow in question at Elladan, who stifled a smile and shook his head. Suppressing his own smile, the golden-haired Elf crossed his arms across his chest and decided it would be better not to ask.

"How were the western borders?" the elder twin asked quietly.

"Somewhat neglected, but easily amendable," Glorfindel summarised briefly; "What of the east?"

"A few faults here and there, but for the most part they have held well. It will not take much to finish them."

"Good," Glorfindel nodded. "Tomorrow you can look to the south; I will take a small contingent north with me."

The brothers murmured their assent, and were about to continue on into the house when Glorfindel paused, tilting his head slightly and frowning in the direction of the arched entrance.

"No more riders were sent out, were they?" Elrohir asked, his keen elven ears detecting the hoof falls that Glorfindel had heard.

"Not that I know of." The Balrog-Slayer frowned. "Whoever it is, they do not rush; the horse is walking at a leisurely pace."

Estel followed the conversation closely, but did not even try to listen for the distant sounds they could hear. "Perhaps a traveller is looking for refuge?" he suggested, unaware just how near the mark his words struck.

There was a pause as the three elves strained to hear more, their gazes all fixed on the road behind them.

"Voices," Elladan confirmed what they all heard. Again, Glorfindel frowned.

"What is it?" Estel asked.

"I would easily have overtaken any rider going at such a slow pace on the road home, yet I did not." He paused, and now even Estel could faintly detect the unguarded chatter of voices and the clear ring of iron shoes on flint.

"Perhaps they came from a different path?" Estel again suggested a solution.

"Perhaps," Glorfindel concurred reluctantly, but did not look entirely satisfied.

"Then let us wait, and greet whoever arrives," Elladan said, rightly reading the elder elf's unease.

Before long, the sound of happily conversing voices was clearly plain, even to mortal ears, and after a few minutes of waiting three figures passed beneath the archway, two on foot and one astride a golden palomino horse. The rider was enshrouded in a heavy cloak to fend off the cold, but the two walkers did not wear their hoods up and recognition shone in their faces as their eyes found the twins.

"My lords Elladan and Elrohir!" a woman's hearty voice greeted them, rich and warm against the chill night.

"Annaé!" they chorused in delight, coming forward to greet her. Estel had not met the woman before, but the name was one he knew well. This robust woman with thick, braided dark hair and lively, bright eyes was the wife of Balon. Hesitantly, he trailed his brother's across the courtyard.

"Long has it been since you came to our home, far too long!" Elladan said sincerely, bowing slightly to her.

"When last you came, your son was but a small lad," Elrohir said, eyeing the teenage youth holding the horse's bridle. Tall and thick set, despite being no more than sixteen or seventeen years of age, he had his father's shaggy black hair and piercing grey eyes that met that of the twins with open curiosity. Not the first was he to be awed by the flawless double image the twins presented, and few even amongst the sharp eyes of the Fair Folk could tell them apart on a slight acquaintance.

"Ah, but of course – Thenglin, do you remember Elladan and Elrohir – or is it Elrohir and Elladan?" she questioned, motioning between them. "I always said you were far too identical for your own good!"

Awkwardly, Thenglin gave the twins a small bow as they chuckled at the Ranger woman's comment.

"Well met, son of Balon, and welcome to Imladris."

"And you," she said, rounding on Estel, "Must be Strider; my Balon has told me all about his newest recruit."

Estel felt himself blush slightly but luckily the poor light hid it well. "Aye, Strider I am in the wilds, my lady; though here in my home I am simply Estel."

"Simply Estel?" she echoed, her eyes sparkling. "I'll warrant you are far more, but enough of that."

"And who is your travelling companion, Annaé?" Elladan questioned. The rider had so far remained silent, its face hidden beneath a hood.

"Ah, this is a fellow traveller we met upon the road," Annaé said, turning to help the rider from the saddle. "The nights are drawing in, and it does not do to walk these lands alone; and our destinations were one and the same."

"I see; and does this traveller have a name?" Elrohir prompted, trying to pierce the shadows beneath the hood.

"Hmmph, as blunt as ever your Uncle was," came the sharp response from a strained, aged voice, though it was identifiably female. Elrohir frowned, glancing sharply at his twin.

"Do you have a name, my lady?" Elladan questioned, his own curiosity stirred.

"I have many," came the curt reply. "Though more often than not, in these late days I am named Galrafëa."

A short gasp escaped the lips of the twins, and Glorfindel, hearing all that passed, quickly crossed the courtyard to them.

"Forgive my interruption; but you are _the_ Galrafëa?" he inquired, gazing down at the bent figure with stern eyes. Here perhaps was to be found an explanation of the company's silent passing.

"Assuming there is only one of me, yes," the woman replied.

Elrohir gaped. "But that is..."

"Incredible!" Elladan finished for his twin, both of whom were staring at the figure in mild awe, their expressions not dissimilar to Thenglin's in regard to them. Estel glanced between each of the faces present looking for an answer.

"I am sorry, who are you?"

"'_The Shining Spirit who Wanders'_," Glorfindel translated for the young human; "The name of a sorceress who appears in many tales, particularly in the east and south of Middle Earth." Privately, he was not convinced by this claim; nowhere did it state that Galrafëa was an Elf, and yet she first appeared in records centuries past.

"I am positively a celebrity," the voice wheezed, forcing a chuckle out in the cold air which was swiftly followed by a racking chesty cough.

"There now, I told you not to exert yourself," Annaé scolded gently, clearly surprised to find her companion of Elven renown.

"Indeed; it is cold out here, know you that, sons of Elrond?" the woman said sharply. "We are not all fortunate enough to be blessed with the stamina of Elven blood."

"Then come and warm yourself by our fires," Elladan offered cordially, having recovered slightly from the revelation of this stranger. "Food and drink, and a good bed can all be prepared for you."

"And I am sure our father would wish to speak with you." Elrohir added.

"Mmn...and I with him," her voice rasped, but she would say no more. Instead, she reached out as though to steady herself on Estel's arm and clung on with a deceptively strong grip. "Lead me in, young man," she ordered, "And describe to me our path as we go."

Puzzled but obedient, Estel led her across the courtyard and up the stairs to the door, describing as he went the lay of the buildings and the number of steps. The small company fell in behind him, as another stable hand came to lead the golden mare away.

Once they had entered the hall and closed the door, the temperature immediately became more pleasant for the humans.

"There; that is better is it not?" she chuckled to herself again, and causing another wheezing fit though in the arm air it was quicker to subside.

"Go on to the Hall of Fire," Glorfindel said to Estel; "I shall inform your father of the arrival of our guests."

As the woman made her way slowly by Estel's side, leaning heavily between him and a gnarled walking stick, she lowered her voice and spoke softly in his ear so that their companions could not hear.

"I see he seems to refer to your father, too," she whispered. "What exactly is your name, child? I knew not that Elven lords could sire mortal men."

"Strider, my lady; or Estel, if it please you," Estel answered. "And the Lord Elrond is my adopted father, for my own family were slain when I was but young."

"Mmn...very well then, keep your secrets to yourself. A man with many names is unlikely to reply with the true one when asked, I suppose. To be fostered by an Elven Lord though? That is quite a thing, Ranger lad, quite a thing indeed." She seemed to muse to herself for a few moments. "For how long have you walked the wilds of your people, then?"

"This six months past I have been away from home." Estel felt uneasy answering her questions. They were not piercing, exactly; but he got the distinct feeling she was gleaning information from him to fit a bigger picture.

"Mmn...that is well. You do not remind me of him though; not enough of the sea in you," she answered cryptically, and would venture no more, leaving Estel even more confused.

In the Hall of Fire they found the Rangers already seated at a table. As his wife and son entered Balon rose to his feet, a look of joyful surprise on his face as he went to embrace Annaé.

"I had hoped that you would come," he said, kissing her forehead before clapping his son's broad shoulders. "Well, son, what think you of Imladris?"

Thenglin's eyes glanced nervously across at the twins and then back to his father. "I – I like it very much," he said, as his father laughed loudly.

"Aye I thought you would; come, sit and drink with us."

As the family went to join Halbarad and the other Rangers, Elrohir turned to the mysterious woman on Estel's arm.

"What of you, my lady? May I get you refreshment – perhaps some tea?"

"Best idea you have had all day, I'll warrant," she nodded. Exchanging a bemused look with his twin, Elrohir hurried to the far side of the room to pour the drink.

"Do you wish to sit by the fire, my lady?" Elladan offered.

"I have been a-horse for weeks, son of Elrond; my backside can barely stand much more of such treatment at my age. My feet shall fare me well, thank you." Even as she said this, Estel felt her shift her weight all the more heavily on his arm.

As Elrohir returned to them with a steaming mug, his father entered the Hall with Glorfindel by his side, talking quietly in his ear.

"Father," the twins greeted; "This is the Lady Galrafëa, come to us as a traveller seeking refuge."

"No Lady am I, sons of Elrond; do not adorn me with false titles."

"Indeed?" Elrond said, as intrigued as his sons. Glorfindel had already relayed to him all that had passed. At the sound of his voice, Galrafëa snapped her head around to face his direction.

"Ah, Master Elrond," she said a little more courteously than she had been speaking before; "After all these long years, we finally meet again."

"Again?" Elrond said, puzzled, though the voice held a nagging familiarity to it. The shadow on his heart seemed to stir, but it still did not come from her. "Are you sure you are not mistaken, my lady? I have never met Galrafëa before, though I have read her name in many books of lore."

"I am not mistaken, and neither are you, Master Elrond; for we met when Galrafëa was not yet Galrafëa."

Lord Elrond looked between his sons, his gaze coming to rest on Estel, who gave a small shrug. The Hall had fallen silent now, the talk of the Rangers and other elves stilled by the mystery unfolding before them.

"Another name, perhaps then, I would recognise you by," he said slowly, taking careful, deliberate strides towards her; "And a face with which to match that name. Will you not remove your hood, my lady?"

Stiffly, the woman unwound her arm from Estel's, balancing her weight on her stick and shuffling forward a few steps towards the approaching Elven Lord. Glorfindel remained where he was behind Elrond, all his senses on alert, his keen eyes scrutinising the meeting. The two paused mere feet from each other, and there was a moment of stillness as each tried to bend the will of the other. Finally, Galrafëa sighed, even as she had done so millennia ago to a face so different and yet so identical. "I will show you this face, since you ask; though through wear you may not recognise it at all."

Casting back her hood in a swift, fluid movement, a cascade of thick silver curls sprang from their bonds. In the firelight, Estel saw and suddenly understood the reason she had required his assistance; her eyes were misty white, roving but unseeing, blind to the world. Hundreds of wrinkles plagued her mottled, loose skin about her mouth and neck, seeming almost too many in number for any mortal to gain within a single lifetime. Estel and the twins' eyes widened in shock at seeing old age personified so, and looked from her to their father – and were all at once confused all the more.

For Galrafëa was wrong; despite the ravages that the ages of the world had wreaked upon her body, Elrond could still see in that aged face the woman he had briefly known all those years ago. Images and memories he thought long since gone resurfaced suddenly in his mind. Frozen, his mouth dropped open slightly but he could not find his voice.

"Father?" his sons said worriedly, hurrying to his side even as Glorfindel stepped up behind him. They sought his eyes, but the glassy grey orbs would not fix on the young elves before him; rather they seemed to see something that was not there. Indeed, Elrond's mind had suddenly reeled far away; the figure of a white-haired man loomed before him, and the sickly sweet smell of the herbs filled his senses once more. Reaching out, Elrond gripped Elladan's shoulder tightly to try and dispel the memories as Elrohir wrapped an arm around his father's waist for support. And now the pain came back to him – it had been so much, so long ago...

"Father, who is she?" Estel asked, his face a mask of concern. Still his father was silent; for the first time in Estel's life, and for the first time in a long time in the twins' memories, Lord Elrond was speechless. _This is impossible – it cannot be her, not now; she must have died... _His thoughts swirled in a torrent of unformed words, as he looked past the young human and sought that long lost face once more. Her words came suddenly back to him as if from a dream, or swept in on the salty breeze of his childhood home: "_My heart tells me our paths will cross again, some day... something tells me we have not seen the last of each other."_

"My name," came the raspy, aged voice; "Is Nesial."

**Please R&R.**

**Loadsa**** love, Estel xxx**


	3. Memory and Shadow

**Disclaimer: As before**

**A/N: Sorry about the long wait! I have just had time to finish this in a quiet afternoon during my Freshers' Week at university. I have as usual gone through everything at least twice for mistakes but I'll apologise for any that have slipped through the net. The next chapter might again be a long wait, but I'll try my best. Thanks!**

**Chapter Three: Memory and Shadow**

The name hung in the air, seeming to echo through the halls of Elrond's mind. Still he remained frozen, as of yet unable to form the words – _any_ words...And yet, what words could possibly be appropriate, or necessary, or required?

"Father?" The worried voices of his sons tugged at his concentration. "Father, what is wrong?" The twins communicated together silently, not wanting to burden Estel with their thoughts; but they had never seen their father like this, not even when news had been brought of their mother's captivity by the mountain Orcs. Surely this strange woman must the source of the Elven Lord's growing disquiet?

Glorfindel's mind was wandering the same route, though his own heart bade him not to be hasty in his judgement. There was clearly more at work here than met the eye. Elrond obviously knew this woman, whether she was Nesial or Galrafëa or a traveller by any other name. Imperceptibly, his eyes sought the faces of a small group of elves near the fire and bid them approach. He would not be hasty, no, but neither would he be caught at unawares.

"You fears are unfounded, Lord Glorfindel," Nesial said, her unseeing eyes never leaving Elrond's face. The approaching elves stopped, looking to the golden-haired elf for instruction. Frowning, he raised his hand in a gesture for them to remain where they were.

"You passed me by once this evening already, my Lady," he reminded her, his voice stern.

"And you will not fall for the same trick twice, I'll warrant," she chuckled, her gaze finally breaking off from Elrond's, though her blind eyes seemed to continue to watch him slyly.

As though released from a spell, Elrond closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and drawing strength from his sons. He _could_ master this – he had to.

"So boy, where is that tea you promised? Growing cold no doubt," Nesial said a little sharply, gesturing vaguely in Elrohir's direction.

"Who are you?" Elrohir asked firmly, not moving from where his father leant against his waist. "What is your purpose here?"

"How do you know our father?" Elladan demanded, his worry putting an edge to his words.

"Softly, my sons; long, long ago did we meet for a brief while, as it seems now." Lord Elrond had opened his eyes and his expression beseeched his sons to trust him, though his voice was strained as with wear that an immortal elf rarely showed. At the sound of their father's voice, all three turned their attention from the mysterious woman. Unwinding his arm from Elrohir, he grasped Estel's hand where the young man stood directly in front of him, and motioned for Elrohir to hand the tea cup he still held to Nesial. "For not for nothing is this named the Last Homely House, and rest I offer to _all_ who wander here."

Reluctantly, Elrohir approached Nesial with much mistrust, his eyes narrowed and scrutinising.

"Aye, brief it seems now, you say; though that time was an eternity in its own right." Nesial's hands came up blindly as she sensed Elrohir's proximity. Carefully, he placed the china up in her hands, twisted as they were by arthritis. "Thank you," she added stiffly.

"An eternity indeed; though I am not now the child I was then." Elrond's voice was stronger now, and he felt his mind gain the mastery over his fluttering heart. Untangling himself from his sons, he followed in Elrohir's wake, Glorfindel hovering still just behind him.

Nesial murmured her assent into the cup as she drank. The sweet warm liquid soothed her parched throat, and the heat seeped through her sore hands, easing the ache it found there.

As he brought his shock under control, Elrond watched the woman in front of him who was so changed from the image in his memory. Her glistening copper curls were thinner, much thinner, and icy silver-white now, though they were tinted rose in the light of the fire. Her misty eyes stood in stark contrast to the onyx orbs that had once pored so deep into his own, searching and seeing...and saving. More than anything thing, the strength this sorceress had once emanated seemed faded and diminished – in fact she was frail, worn by the long years, her stance stooped where once proud shoulders had stood square and firm. His healer's eyes easily noted the inflamed joints in her hands, and the way she relied heavily upon her stick for support.

"You are in pain," he stated quietly, startling her slightly; she had not realised he had come to stand so close to her.

"No Master Elrond, I am _old_," she corrected, chuckling to herself. Again it developed into a chesty cough and Elrond immediately stepped forward, taking the tea from her hands and offering her an arm to lean on, placing the other gently on her back. He could feel the way her ribs rattled and frowned; she was much more fragile even than she looked. Any ordinary mortal brought to him thus he suspected would soon be bound for the Halls of Mandos – then again, Nesial was no ordinary mortal.

"Be that as it may, your journey has been long, and you need rest – yes, even you, Nesial!" Elrond laughed lightly at the indignant expression on her face.

Elladan, Elrohir and Estel all visibly relaxed the Elven Lord regained himself, and the tense atmosphere was dispersed with the sound of his laughter. Glorfindel released the long breath he did not realise he had been holding, running a hand through his golden braids.

"Well I suppose if you offer me decent lodging I shall not reject it," she said grudgingly. "But we have much to catch up on first, _elf-boy_."

"I do not think that name fits me so well now, Nesial," Elrond said lightly, though there was an underlying warning in his words.

"Ah well, perhaps not," she agreed, though unabashed, shifting her weight on her stick. The twins and Estel glanced at each other in bewilderment; that was definitely not a title they had heard attested to their father before.

"The hour is late and your body is betraying you; rest from your toil, and on the morrow we shall speak. There is much I would know of you."

"There is much I would tell," she concurred, sighing. _So many years and so many tales._

At a slight motion from their lord, two of the elves standing sentinel stepped forward. "Please escort Nesial to one of the ground floor guest rooms; attend to any wishes she might have."

The elves bowed, stepping forward to offer their arms to the Lady as Elrond stepped away. "Until the morrow then, Master Elrond."

"Until the morrow, Nesial."

As she shuffled from the Hall, the Rangers, who until now had remained carefully silent, also rose to their feet. "It is time we also retired, I think," Halbarad said, though they rarely left the Hall this early. Elrond however was grateful for his tact.

"Lindur will prepare extra bedding for you and Thenglin, Annaé," Elrond assured them; "He should be in the kitchens; please feel free to seek him."

"Of course; our thanks, my Lord," Annaé said, hushing her son from the Hall. One by one the Rangers filed out, each quietly bidding the small family farewell. Finally the Hall was empty but for Elrond, his sons and Glorfindel.

None of them spoke. Elrond sighed deeply, and headed to the thick cushioned chairs by the fire. Sinking deeply into one, his head fell forward to rest in his left hand, his dark hair falling about his face as his eyes closed. Silently, Glorfindel, Estel and the twins followed him over. The golden-haired warrior did not sit, preferring to lean against the fireplace and face his old friend, whilst Elladan dragged a chair nearer to his father's left. Elrohir perched lightly on the right arm of the chair in which Elrond sat, and Estel knelt softly at his feet, taking his father's hand in his own.

For a while there was silence. The twins knew they could not push this matter, but would need to wait for their father to venture the information willingly however confused and curious they were. After what seemed like an eternity, the Lord of Imladris opened his eyes and raised his head, taking in the scene around him; and despite himself, a small smile tugged at his lips as he found four pairs of anxious eyes gazing at him.

"There is quite a story here, I deem," Glorfindel said gently with a sad smile.

Elrond glanced at his friend, snorting softly. "That is one way of putting it, yes."

"We would have you tell us father..." Elladan began.

"But only if you can." Elrohir finished quietly for his twin. The thoughts of his brother, his _own_ twin, came swirling back to Elrond now more fiercely than ever as his sons completed each others thoughts, even as he and Elros had done so long ago. The trials of that horrific week in the captivity of a madman haunted his face as the flames caused shadows to dance around the room.

"Who is she, father?" Estel ventured, thinking it best to begin – well, at the start.

"Nesial," Elrond frowned, and sighing heavily. After a pause, he said; "Wine. I think I need a large glass of wine."

Quirking an eyebrow, Glorfindel pushed off from the fireplace and poured a crystal goblet full to the brim with the deep crimson liquid. Taking it gratefully, Elrond had drained half the glass in three gulps before Glorfindel had even resumed his position by the fire.

"Steady friend, I would have your speech legible if you have a mind to tell us this tale," Glorfindel chastised lightly. Elrond shot him a rueful glance and held the glass in his lap. He never thought he would ever have need to tell this tale – he had never wanted to, not even to his family. Celebrían had known of course, but that was long ago, beneath the spring boughs where they had first met when Imladris was yet young. Still...what must be done, must be done. He steeled his resolve and held Estel's eye.

"She is Nesial, as I knew her," he said, finally beginning to reply to the young man's question. "And she is older than I, or even Glorfindel."

"But is she not a mortal? She is certainly no elf," Elladan said.

"That she is no elf is plain to see; as to her mortality I could not have guessed before this night..." He stopped. It was impossible to explain who Nesial was without explaining how he had come to meet her. "A long time ago, before the War of Wrath and the Downfall of Morgoth and the breaking of the world, I lived on the western most shores of Beleriand with my family. We dwelt amid Círdan's people as well as the exiles of Gondolin come with my father, and those come from the ruin of Doriath with my mother. We were a small community by the sea, and my father was a great mariner."

All of them knew this already of course; but it seemed easiest for the Elven Lord to start here, so they did not interrupt him.

"There came a morning...There came a morning, clear and sharp in autumn. My father was away at sea, and my brother Elros and I were at arms practice beyond the perimeters of our home." He paused, glancing at the twins, who smiled back. They knew how much their father had loved his twin; their own personal bond was so close, formed before birth in the womb. To have that unique connection broken...neither wanted to think about it. It simply was not an option. "There was nothing particularly special about that morning," Elrond recalled, squinting his eyes into the fire as though viewing the memory from a great distance. "We took turns at archery first; I was the better archer but Elros was the better swordsman. As I say there was nothing special about that day, it was like any other..." A shadow seemed suddenly to cloud his fair face, and his voice was toneless. "There was a small woodland nearby. Without warning a band of riders erupted from it. Elros escaped, but they held me captive and took me back to their dwelling amid some eastern hills. It was within this band of riders that I first met Nesial."

"She was part of a group who _kidnapped_ you?" Elladan burst out incredulously.

"Were they after the Silmaril that grandmother bore?" Elrohir asked more quietly. Estel remained silent, squeezing his father's free hand a little tighter.

"No and no," Elrond replied, smiling gently at his sons, and taking another small sip of wine. He did not look up but he could feel Glorfindel scrutinising him carefully. "Nesial was a captive, just as I was, though under a different guise. The Captain of this group was a man who called himself Káno." It was the first time he had said that name in over a millennia. He had though it would hurt more...but perhaps the long years had finally eased that ache; then again, perhaps it was the wine. "He was evil, and of darkness; yet he and Nesial were not unalike in their begetting. You see, neither of them were born to the mortal constraints that they bore; they were come of two ancient races. The Therethal, Nesial's people were called, beings of essence and entity created by Elbereth during the Age of the Stars. And the Dakah were made in mockery of them by Morgoth. By some foul art he tricked the Dakah into working his will and enslaved the Therethal, trapping them both within bodies of flesh with the promise of greatness. As far as I can gage however, the Dakah were not so easily dominated and rebelled against the Dark Lord, only to have him inflict a curse upon both races forever: that they both should be chained within their mortal cases, and that each member of each race would be paired with one from the other. Thus were these ancient enemies forces to work together to free themselves from Morgoth's restraints."

He stopped a while, the memories overtaking him as he recalled that first meeting with Nesial; she had been told to feed him, but his hands were bound... He shook his head from the daze, looking down into Estel's dark silver eyes. Taking his hand from the young human's, he held his youngest son's face gently, wiping dark wayward hairs away. Estel could not help but to smile encouragingly, and in those young, hopeful eyes, Elrond regained his resolve.

"The Therethal and Dakah could only be freed with the blood of a chosen victim, sacrificed in a ritual," Glorfindel said suddenly, piercing his friend with a bright stare. Elrond's head jerked up, his expression unreadable. Stiffly, he nodded.

"How do you know that?"

Glorfindel looked away again, leaning more heavily upon the ornate marble mantle, the heat from the fire of little discomfort to his elven blood. "I have lived long in this world, and seen even that which is beyond it," he reminded them. "I have heard tell of the peoples you speak of." _And I have a very bad feeling I know what you are going to say next_, he thought heavily, but did not voice it.

Mentally, Elrond shook himself. Of course Glorfindel would have heard mention of these races. Yet somehow, it made it easier to have someone else present who understood what he meant, even when he did not say it.

"The blood of a sacrificial victim?" Elrohir said, the words filling him with dread. It was hard for the twins to imagine their father as anything other than the Elven Lord of renown, famed for his healing lore as well as his strength at arms. Estel shivered almost imperceptibly at the notion, even as his father's sad eyes landed on him once more.

"I was the chosen one for them," he nodded; "my blood only could free them and allow them once more to roam the winds of their original existence." He repressed a shudder as the images of contorted stone statues on silver lit hilltops came vividly back to him. "For a week I was their prisoner as they waited for the right time to come..."

"And this _Nesial_ was party to all of this?" Elladan said fiercely, nearly spitting the name out as though it stung his mouth. His father did not need to go into the specifics of his imprisonment; the centuries had taught him his father's ways, and he _knew_ they were not being told everything, and that the story was being distinctly glossed over. Now they were housing the very woman who had conspired to achieve this? It made his blood boil. He did not need to look to his twin to know that however well restrained, Elrohir was feeling the exact same thing – it burned like icy stars in their eyes.

"Peace my sons," Elrond implored. He could feel the anger radiating from the twins like heat; even Estel's face was set and stern, his lips set in a thin line. He had released the anger from his own heart to prevent it consuming him, and in time he had healed; he did not want his sons to take the other path. "Remember, that all is never as it seems; Nesial it was who through her arts alerted Elros and my father to my whereabouts, and led their men in my rescue. Káno was killed, and my life was saved."

"So her conscience finally caught up with her then?" Elladan said bitterly, still unable to totally forgive the woman.

"I have heard it said that each pair of Therethal and Dakah have only one chance to find their freedom," Glorfindel said, his brow furrowed.

"It is even as you say," Elrond confirmed. "Though my case was different, for Elros was my twin, and his life was endangered for a while... But it all came to nothing."

"But that means..." Estel said, chewing his lower lip; "Only one chance, you say? Then if she aided you..."

"She forfeited her sole opportunity to rejoin her people, yes," his father quietly admitted. Estel's anger was moved immediately to pity.

"Then she has been alive, all this time..."

"And all alone," Elrohir finished sadly. All at once, he felt faintly guilty for his quick ire. If all this was correct, and coming from his father he had no doubt that it was, then what she had sacrificed for him was a very great thing indeed. He caught Elladan's eye and knew his brother was thinking the same thing. To live for eternity was one thing; to face it without companionship...There was a pause as the information sunk in.

"Forgive me my sharp words, father," Elladan said, somewhat abashed. "I spoke in ignorant haste." Elrond looked around at his eldest and placed a hand on his shoulder in silent understanding.

"But so much time has passed," Glorfindel said, redirecting the Elven Lord's attention. "What has brought her here now? It is no secret that you are the Master of Imladris. Why has she not sought you sooner?"

Elrond did not answer, but finished his wine. Setting the goblet aside, he turned to reply to the golden-haired elf. "Because she is dying," he said simply. There was no use denying it, or dressing it up as something it was not. Death had come for her as it came for all things, save the Firstborn only; and he perceived that it was only now, as she faced this once last test and journey, that she would need his aid. "We neither of us knew how long her life in the world would last, for there was no precedent on which to base it. Now it seems we finally have our answer."

For a while there was silence as each mulled over his own thoughts. It seemed impossible to Estel that such darkness could live in the world... Almost like an unpleasant story that he simply would not have believed were it not for the credibility of the teller.

"I wonder what she has been doing all these years?" Elrohir's musings voiced the question on all their minds.

"Well, tomorrow we shall no doubt find out brother," Elladan said.

"Yes...tomorrow," Elrond said, in a tone that was final. Rising to his feet, he pulled Estel strongly up with him from the floor. "This has been a long day for us all, what with one thing and another. Time for us to retire. Tomorrow will prove just as taxing, I think." Even with millennia of wisdom, and the gift of foresight, Lord Elrond could never have guessed just how chillingly true these last words would prove to be.

Obediently, the twins followed as Elrond wrapped an arm around Estel's shoulder, once more fully appreciating the presence of his foster son, safe beneath the vaulted roofs of his home. At the door he paused and turned back, aware that Glorfindel was not following them.

"Will you not also take your rest, old friend?"

The Balrog-Slayer shifted his weight away from the mantle and paced towards the family. The twins watched him carefully, but his face was schooled and guarded.

"No, my lord; I do not yet weary of the night."

Slowly, Elrond nodded and made his way upstairs towards his sleeping quarters. He had a fairly good idea where Glorfindel would go, but did not stop him. _It will be easier than retelling the tale again._

Remaining at the bottom of the stairs, Glorfindel watched and waited until he had heard four doors click shut, and the muffled sound of movements had stopped. Then tearing his gaze away he walked swiftly down the hallway towards the Library where he knew Erestor would still be poring over ancient manuscripts. There was bound to be more information in those vast tomes somewhere, and the arrival of Nesial had only hastened his desire to fortify Rivendell. Whatever her purpose here, her presence had increased the anxiety in his heart rather than sate it. Shaking his head at the dark thoughts, he focused on present; they would have to face this situation, just as ever they did – one step at a time.

As movement with the Last Homely House was finally subdued, a shadow darker than those cast by natural light crept in though the open air rafters of the outer buildings. Thick like smog, it moved with intent, flitting between pillars of stone to enter the now empty Hall. It passed like a dull whisper by the ever-burning fire, and so cold was its touch that the flames spluttered feebly as though choked. Yet as it moved on the flames resumed, dancing higher as though in defiance.

It was close now, so close it could smell its quarry...Its time was soon – very soon.

-0-

Legolas had already dismantled his make-shift flet in the boughs of a tall old oak when the sun rose fiery in the east upon the far mountain of his home, lighting the peaks of the distant Misty Mountains in blood red. _Red sky by morning, Shepherd's warning_ - the old mortal rhyme foreboding ill weather flitted momentarily across his mind. Tossing his bow lightly on the ground, he nimbly jumped the last fifteen feet to the soft leaves, rolling with his momentum and rising to his feet in one fluid movement. _All the more reason to be on my way,_ he thought to himself, as he picked up his bow and slung it over his shoulder before heading westward.

It had been three days since he had left the Palace, and he was now on the eaves of his forest home. Here the trees grew more sparse and were gradually replaced by shrubs, and then rolling meadows as the woodland retreated entirely. In the very far distance, his keen elven sight could detect a sliver of silver before the feet of the mountains as the River Anduin meandered down from the northlands. It was much narrower this far north, and further upstream still more; and though it was a swift current, there were places it could be forded, so long as one knew how and where to look.

Lengthening his stride and readjusting his pack, the Prince set a vaguely north-westerly course as the sun continued to climb the sky behind his back.

The same light that graced the golden head of the Prince of Mirkwood had not yet broached the mountain walls that flanked Imladris, and a solitary hunched figure stood leaning upon a balcony, watching as the stars grew fainter. Though time had stolen her vision, it was a sight she had watched too many thousands of times to ever forget. Burning defiantly in the west, a familiar bright light twinkled beyond the circles of the world; and Nesial almost fancied in her mind's eye that she could see Vingilot, with its golden sails and glimmering hull, tossed upon the clouds of a distant world as it came to harbour by a tall white tower. And if she strained just a little, she imagined she could see the face of that great ship's Captain, a Mariner unrivalled by Men or Elves, his grey eyes seeking the embrace of his beloved amid the whirl of white gulls, the unsullied light of a bright gem echoing the beginnings of Arda bound upon his brow.

Nesial snorted softly to herself. "Nothing but fanciful ramblings", she muttered, dispelling the vision. Sometimes it was easier though, to live in the images she created rather than the unending darkness she was now subjected to. Memories often replayed across her mind, and she had so many to relive; some sad, some filled with laughter, some passionate...some poignant; and of course, there were those that she would rather forget, and some that she never could. Relatively speaking, she had not lost her sight that long ago – but five hundred years was still an awfully long time to be blind.

She shifted her weight to her other foot, her bones creaking ominously. That was something else she had had to get used to – mortal ageing. When it had first started she could not truly say; except that one day, she noticed it was harder for her to catch her breath back, and then her joints would ache, especially her knees or hips. It had startled her to realise her hair was growing paler, and her skin was not the smooth, unblemished porcelain it had once been. Her teeth gradually yellowed, and her stance became stooped until she had been forced to take to her walking stick. Her mind would at times be more sluggish, though for the most part it was as sharp as ever it was; but she would now need more sleep than she had done in her youth, and it became harder and more painful to pull her aching body from bed every dawn.

And then it finally happened – one day, she looked in the mirror, and the face of the person she saw she did not know. There was almost nothing to recognise in this new face, a twisted mockery of all that she had been. _Perhaps it is for the best I cannot see myself now_, she thought.

Soft rustling behind her caught her attention and she turned stiffly. "Who is there?"

"It is I, Annaé," came the quiet reply, as the Ranger woman came up alongside her travelling companion. "It is a fair dawn, is it not?"

"I would not know, though I do not doubt it."

Annaé paused for a moment, mentally pinching herself; Nesial was blind, of course she must be more guarded with her words.

"Would you like me to describe it to you?" she offered after a pause.

Nesial did not reply at once, and Annaé began to think she had further offended her, when the old woman finally said, "Does Eärendil still shine in the West?"

"Oh yes, my lady," Annaé said, unable to prevent the sigh of relief that came with the words. "All the other stars have fled now, but still He remains, watching us until the Sun should come. She will be here soon; the snow-clad mountains are losing the coldness of night, and the orchards below begin to feel their shadows lessen. The air will warm and when the Sun crests the sky the River will glitter like liquid silver between the pale archways of Imladris."

"I wonder if he ever thinks of me?" Nesial mumbled to herself, the words confusing Annaé entirely. "Near every night we think of him," Nesial said more clearly, as though to offer explanation; "I often wonder if he still thinks of us, down here so very far away."

Annaé still did not entirely understand in truth, but wisely did not question Nesial. She had perceived that this woman was not quite what she seemed, but for her to have long since known the Lord Elrond...well, that made her quite special indeed.

Below them, the Rangers were quietly assembling together and the sounds distracted Nesial. "Who is gathered below?"

"It is my husband, Balon, and his Captain Halbarad," Annaé replied, unable to keep the smile from her face, and the warmth carried in her voice. "They rise with the dawn for a light foray into the woods – it is long since Thenglin has travelled hither, and it is good for him to be with his father."

"You love your family very much," Nesial commented, her head tilted towards her companion.

"What wife and mother does not love her own? I am sure I have not met one." A thought came to her. "Do you have a family, my lady?"

A soft chuckle escaped Nesial's thin lips. "Once, long ago I took a husband..." A wistful look passed over her face. "We were very happy," she said, but seemed unwilling to venture further information and Annaé did not press for it. There seemed to be sadness in her voice and the Ranger woman did not wish to cause her grief.

"Will you come down to the Hall with me?" Annaé said, touching Nesial's elbow gently to offer her support. "The kitchens will nearly be ready to serve breakfast now; we should arrive just in time."

"At this Lord –unholy hour of the morning?" Nesial said, quirking an eyebrow. She did however accept Annaé's help and they slowly made their way towards the staircase that Nesial had earlier climbed alone with some trouble.

"You will find this is a House that rises early, my lady – not unlike yourself, it would seem!" Annaé chuckled softly.

Upon reaching the Hall, they found it even as Annaé had said; several long tables had been graced with bowls of fresh autumn fruits and thick loaves still steaming slightly from the stove, with jars of amber honey, dark jam and rich golden butter. Taking their seats, Annaé helped Nesial before she looked to her own plate, and the two women sat in comfortable conversation, neither touching on any particular subject but content to breeze across light topics. That was something else that Nesial had had to learn; to swallow her pride and graciously accept help from others whose hearts were well-meaning. It had felt humiliating at first, not even being able to manage simple tasks under her own powers; but time had taught her humility, and that had taught her patience. _Perhaps I am become soft in my old age!_ She had laughed at herself more than once.

When the sun had fully broached the mountain passes, Nesial heard the unmistakable step of Lord Elrond enter the Hall, firm and steady and elven light beneath his heavy autumn robes.

"A good morning to you both ladies," he said graciously, dipping his head in greeting but motioning for them both to keep their seats as he took his own. His voice was level and mild, not betraying the slightest emotion of what his heart felt as his gaze lighted on Nesial once more. "I trust you both rested well?"

"Very much so, my Lord, thank you," Annaé beamed back at him, and Nesial nodded her assent, slowly chewing on her bread and jam.

"Your husband and his men will be gone until mid-afternoon, I understand?" he said politely to make conversation, helping himself to a freshly harvested apple before buttering a slice of bread.

"Oh yes, my Lord," Annae replied, vaguely noting the faint frown on Nesial's face. "My son so wished to see the delights of your fair valley."

"And well he might," Elrond winked at her kindly. "I fear my sons will be otherwise engaged today" – his eyes flickered almost imperceptibly over Nesial – "else they should happily have accompanied them. Then again, perhaps they shall be safer alone!"

Annaé chuckled, but was not entirely easy; for as subtle as the Elven Lord was, she was a woman with quick wits and sharp eyes, and there was little that passed before her that she did not see – and she could see quite obviously that unfinished business lay between her two breakfast companions. Finishing quickly, she pushed her plate aside.

"I have had my fill now, I think; pray excuse me my Lord," she said courteously, rising to her feet.

"Will you not have some tea?" Elrond offered.

"Nay my Lord; the day wears on and there is much I should be doing." It was not a complete untruth; Balon did seem to have a nasty habit of always needing his cloaks patching up.

"Very well then," Elrond smiled, reading the truth behind her white lie, and with a dipped head waved her on her way. "Though if you see my sons, pray remind them that the appearance of the sun signifies that the day has begun!"

Annaé's warm laughter rolled back to them as she left the Hall; but soon the noise faded, and Nesial and Elrond were alone.

"You do not have the quicker temper of your father," Nesial observed suddenly. Elrond froze, a slice of bread half way to his mouth. Lowering his hand again, he swallowed before replying.

"I have had uncounted years to learn patience and understanding – my father was not so old even by mortal standards when you met him." It should not have unsettled him, and in truth he was not sure it did; but it felt strange, to have someone speak of his father, to compare him, after so very long. Collecting himself, he continued with his breakfast.

"I think perhaps your brother got the temper," she mused, more to herself it seemed. Again Elrond paused. "Though I don't seem to see it in that that boy of yours...oh, what was his name...the youngest one."

"Estel?" Elrond quirked an eyebrow in surprise. "Why should my brother's temperament be apparent in my foster son?" The learned may know that the Dúnedain were the descendents of the Northern Kingdom, but Estel's precise lineage was a closely guarded secret.

"Oh you know how it is – legends that these wild Rangers have Kings for ancestors – some more direct than others...nothing more than hearsay, probably." She winked, and Elrond got the distinct impression, even as he had sensed in her so long ago, that she knew a lot more than she was letting on.

"I think one of the twins might have a twinge of it though."

"I beg your pardon?"

"The temper," Nesial said matter-of-factly. "One seems a bit snappier than the other. Altogether rude, you know –"

"Quite, my Lady," Elrond cut in. His tone was not cold, but it was commanding, and when the Lord of Imladris commanded, one felt compelled to obey.

"I meant no offence, my Lord – forgive an old woman her ramblings," she chuckled, finally pushing her plate away from her.

Elrond sighed. "None taken, old friend. There is much I would speak with you about..." He pushed his own plate aside, and called for a passing servant to bring a pot of hot tea to his chambers.

Nesial sobered almost immediately, and leaning heavily on her stick and the table hauled herself to her feet. "Then we had better get to business. Lead the way, Master Elrond, as ever you have."

With a slow, shuffling gait, they meandered from the Hall, and into the secluded privacy of Lord Elrond's rooms.

-0-

It was late afternoon, and the storm that had been building up all day was now wreaking havoc in the mountains. Forks of lightening in shocking white illuminated the heights to the east and north, though Rivendell was for the most part protected from the brunt of the force by the power of its Keeper. That did not, however, stop the rain, which had been going steadily for some time now, nor the booming thunder that put even Balon's laugh to shame.

Estel was reclined comfortably on a large sofa, his head propped up on the arm with a cushion. His dark silver eyes lazily watched the grey rain beyond the windows as Elladan, sat at the other end of the sofa, tapped his fingers thoughtfully on his leg. Elrond watched both of his sons silently, trying to gage their thoughts. When the door opened and Elrohir slipped in, all three of them looked around.

"She is well," Elrohir smiled as he dropped nimbly to the thick carpet at his twins' feet. "She is very weary from her journey I think, and will rest until the evening meal."

"It's been a very _long_ journey," Elladan commented, garnering a murmur of consent from his brothers.

Elrond continued to survey his sons. They had been here in his rooms for some hours now; hours spent listening to the long tale that Nesial's life had woven since last they met...

_"I had already passed beyond Doriath when the sons of Feanor came down upon your home by the mouths of the River Sirion," she had begun, her eyes seeming to further mist with the memories, if that was possible. "It was not long after that, when I was by the feet of the Blue Mountains on the old Dwarf Road, that rumour came to us of the Coming of the Lords of the West, and the war that they made in the North." She smiled wryly. "I must admit, I didn't stick around to discover the outcome: I made my way speedily into the lands between Ered Luin and the __Misty__Mountains__. It was a vast forested country then, and long before the coming of the Noldor or the Silvan Lords from Doriath, I met and learned much of the Tree Folk that yet dwelt there. I'm not sure quite how long I tarried in this part of the world, but eventually I began to journey southwards until the Mountains ended – the Gap of Rohan, you call it now. I passed through that land too, and began to meet those of the race of men who had not answered the westward call..."_

On she had talked, of the people she had known, of their lands and ways now long since lost as the Kings of Númenor began to land once more upon the shores of their forebears. The stories seemed near endless – and indeed with a life as long as hers, they nearly were, Elrond knew. Eventually her wandering feet had bent eastward, and crossing the Anduin, she had passed beyond the knowledge of maps where the languages and customs of the Men were strange, and yet their societies not wholly barbaric.

_"That is the problem with you Westerners," she chided none too gently; "Far too ready to paint them all with the same brush. You don't need to have been touched by the light of Aman to lead a decent sort of life, and such were these people. I took my first husband there," she recalled, her voice softening. "Four sons I bore him, and five daughters, all strong and fierce. But eventually he died of course...I remained with my children and grandchildren, whose lives were extended beyond that which was normal for those peoples by my blood...yet they too passed in the end, as all things must. I felt my feet twitching to be gone again, and my heart needed rest from the loss of them..."_

She told how her path had led her southwards, far east beyond Mordor, where the rumour of the Shadow was rife.

_"When I reached the lands east of that which you call Far Harad, where the stars were bent and strange, Sauron had been taken to Númenor as captive, and those regions had a respite for a time. I found a people hardened by shadow, and yet not wholly consumed by it – in those lands I took my second husband. The sun would beat mercilessly upon us by day, and the sudden coolness by night was hard to adjust to at first. My skin was still as fair as milk in those days, if you will believe it, and I was the wonder of the surrounding War Lords. Three sons I bore by second husband, and again five daughters..._

She has never forgotten any of them, Elrond realised, as she spoke of her families, all their names as intact in her memory as the day she had named them. How it must have been to know that all she loved would one day leave her...and yet still be willing to offer love, despite the pain she knew would come, simply for the joy of loving.

_"By the time I came west and north again, Sauron had been defeated in battle, and yet the High King of the Elves was also slain and the numbers of that race were swiftly diminishing as the men of Númenor began to spread in the land they now called Gondor. It was splendid, in its earliest days, you know; glimmering white and pearl and silver across the far Pelannor, its banners streaming from every wall, its people tall and fair, many still yet with a memory of their sundered home far across the Sea..."_

At these words, Estel had felt something deep inside of him stir; something unrecognisable and almost alien...and yet, as much a part of him as his limbs. The images Nesial conjured seemed to appear with striking ease before his eyes, and he felt his heartbeat quicken and his eyes brighten at the tales. Yet it was disquieting too, as though he were tapping into a resource that was not yet fit for purpose, not yet ready for its test.

_"I began to wander the coasts, from the mouths of Anduin westward along __Southern Gondor__, to Dol Amroth and then northward, until at last I came to Mithlond. I had tarried there long, for it had been many years since I had walked among the Elves, when four ships arrived out of the West, bearing five old men." She paused and winked. "No doubt they had simply come from shores further south...but as they journeyed eastward and split, I travelled with two of their number who sought the far East. My knowledge being on the one hand invaluable, and on the other outdated, I offered to take them there for their benefit and my own. Unfortunately those journeys did not go altogether as planned..." She frowned, remembering her final, frustrating parting from her two companions. "Whatever their original intent had been, they turned from it, and forgot, becoming wrapped up with pride and trivial cares. The east I found changed and not to my liking anyway, so I began to return westward and rested on my journey with a people that lived just south and east of Mirkwood. There was where I took my third and final husband. We had two sons and two daughters only, though they were great among their people. For suddenly, you see, I began to realise I was growing old..."_

Elrond's eyes narrowed as he realised her knowledge of the Shadow that had dwelt in Dol Goldur was great, and almost regretted that she had never approached the Council, of whom she most certainly knew, with the information she had gleaned from lands that had long been her home. Perhaps things that had come to pass could have been averted, and events that lay in the future avoided altogether...but it was pointless to dwell upon such impossibilities now.

"The Rangers have returned, father," Elrohir said after the short silence, glancing between the Elven Lord and his human brother.

"A little wet, are they?" Estel grinned, scooting his legs away from the chiding slap that Elladan aimed at him. Swinging them down to the floor he sat up, stretching his back. They had been sat here for hours now and he was feeling stiff.

"You were right about her purpose here though, father," the young man said, locking eyes with Elrond; "She has come here to die."

He sighed deeply. "She is weary of this world, and has perhaps seen too much of it...Yet I do not think she is afraid."

"What do you think will happen to her?" Elrohir wondered aloud. They all knew the souls of Elves and Men, wherever they went, were not joined beyond the circles of the world. Where then Nesial would fit in was another matter altogether.

"I can honestly say I do not know – although I wish, for her sake, she can find that from which she has long been sundered."

With another murmur of consent they all rose to their feet. "I think I shall seek out Halbarad and the others," Estel said, turning towards the door. "Let us see what exactly it was that kept them out for so long!"

"Aye, and mock them for being caught in the rain you mean?" Elladan said, rolling his eyes. Estel feigned a look of indignity.

"As though you would not do the same, brother..."

"Well keep your antics quiet," Elrond warned, following them from the room but heading in the opposite direction. "I want to speak with Glorfindel." As he turned his head, it seemed to him that a shadow lay stark across the floor with nothing to cast it – but he saw it only from the corner of his eye, and when he turned to look it was gone. The twins and Estel were chuckling softly at their father's comment and seemed not to notice anything amiss – but Elrond could not help repressing the slight shudder that traversed his spine. Scanning the corridor, his grey eyes pierced the dull stormy shadows but there was nothing to be found. Seeing their father so, the twins stopped.

"Is all well father?"

"Yes...yes, it is well. Nothing to trouble you, at any rate," he smiled wearily at his sons. The last twenty-four hours had been particularly trying; he just needed rest. "Be careful," he added as a quiet after thought before sweeping away from them.

The comment made the twins glance at each other in mild confusion, but Estel pulled them on towards the slight commotion they could hear downstairs as Lindur tried unavailingly to shepherd the dripping Rangers away from his newly cleaned floors. They began to descend the stairs, huge smiles spreading unbidden across their faces, completely unaware of the danger that haunted their very steps. They were midway to the lower ground when it happened.

The shadow that had escaped Elrond's gaze floated stealthily down from the rafters, hovering above the heads of the three beings on the stairs. One was a human; young, weak and of absolutely no interest or use to its dark purpose. But the other two...

Identical. Just as _they_ had been, all those years ago, when he had been cursed to this wretched existence. Revenge had been so long in coming...But now it was here – and it was _his_. He would destroy them all, one by one, just as they had sought to destroy him.

For a moment, the choice made him pause. Which to pick? His senses reached out, touching the very edge of awareness in both. _This one_, he decided, turning his attention to the right; _the stronger one..._

All the warning they had was the hint of ice in their subconscious.

A booming laugh made all three look to Balon, shaking his shaggy mane and sending droplets everywhere as Annaé struggled to remove his soaked cloak. Thenglin stood shivering beside his father.

"Never mind the storm, you look as though you fell in the _river_!" Strider taunted, winking at his brothers. Elrohir laughed back, but the twinge of ice made him pause and look suddenly around.

Elladan opened his mouth to retort, but noise died soundlessly in his throat. His eyes widened impossibly, all colour suddenly draining from his cheeks as his eyes briefly sought his twin's...before emptying and rolling backwards in his sockets. Only Elrohir noted the abrupt change but he was too late – his strangled cry when Elladan's knees buckled was drowned by Balon's laugh, as the elder twin seemed to drop suddenly, lifelessly down the remaining stairs, his body completely inert, to land in a crumpled heap at he bottom.

It all seemed to happen at once; Estel and Elrohir flew horrified to their brother's side; Annaé screamed, her eyes inexorably drawn to the unnatural angles at which the elf's neck and legs rested; Balon sobered immediately, but the Ranger's collectively gasped in shock at the rapid turn of events.

Estel and Elrohir crouched on either side of their brother, afraid to move him and do further damage, but each felt their hearts pounding furiously in their chests.

"Elladan!" Elrohir called softly, his voice shaky. "Elladan, wake up!"

A solitary trickle of blood weaved slowly through the unconscious twin's dark hair, but he remained unmoving. Steadying his hands, Estel pressed gently at the elf's neck and wrist and felt..._nothing_. His roving eyes fixed on the bright blue ones just inches from him.

"Lord Elrond..." he whispered, his voice cracking; "We need father, **now**!"

**TBC**

**Please R&R, love Estel xxx**


	4. Restless Soul

**A/N: Ok, so, slightly longer wait for this than anyone was expecting, myself included! Apologies, dear reader. Anyhow, I do hope this satisfies :) usual disclaimers apply **

**~*~**

**Chapter Four: Restless Soul**

Dawn again. The storm of the previous day had cleared some of the tension in the atmosphere, but grey clouds still loomed ominously overhead, their load not yet spent. Legolas cast a wary eye skyward as his path brought him closer and closer to the River edge. The trees were far behind him now, a dark distant line marking the edge of his Kingdom, and all around to the south and north was a vast expanse of rolling green country, wild and untamed, though not evil in nature. Before him the mountains barred the way like iron sentinels, marching along the line of the River with snow caps and sheer, treacherous passes. It was at the feet of those great soaring heights that he hoped to make his camp this evening; not a strenuous days travel, but it was not wise to enter the mountain roads as night was falling. If the path was not dangerous enough, he knew full well that far more sinister perils waited to waylay the unseasoned and unprepared traveller. The Prince was neither, but nor was he going to take a chance. The mountains would take a good four days of swift walking to cross, and that needed fair weather which, he thought darkly, was now not likely to happen.

Clearing the meagre camp he had formed, he slung his quiver once more over his back and jogged lightly through the valley. He had not been on the move for very long however when, cresting a shallow rise in the landscape, he espied not far north a thin stream of smoke rising in the air, as from a small camp fire. His curiosity stirred, he paused his steps and stood silhouetted on the hill, peering to see who could be thinking to travel such roads at this time of year. He knew he was too far out of the way for it to be the Beornings, and frowned. Dropping to the floor, he pressed his sharp ear to the earth, listening for the tell-tale rumbles of anxiety that signalled an orc party. Their numbers this side of the mountains may have been few since the Battle of the Five Armies, but the Prince knew it would only be a matter of time before they re-emerged it always was. Yet he detected no such disturbances from the living things around him; in fact, he discovered quite the opposite. Whoever had paused there quite literally had the earth singing their presence. The frown did not leave the Princes fair face, although now he was more intrigued that worried. Such a response usually meant the Firstborn were nearby, but no Elf would need the warmth of a fire, even on this morning on the cusp of winter. Legolas hesitated, part of him still wanting to press on yet Rivendell was not so far now, and there was no rush to arrive in the Valley. In a moment his mind was made up, and detouring from his previous course he ran the distance towards the weaving silver line.

It was less than half an hour before he slowed his pace to a walk, the camp of the mysterious traveller now just over the next gentle roll of the land. Keen elven ears easily detected the sound of hissing smoke as the fire was finally doused, and the deep, rumbling hum of a male voice as he cleared away his things. If any fears had still dogged the Princes mind, they were dispersed with the melody in his experience, those of dubious natures did not hum such merry tunes. Not wanting to unnecessarily surprise the stranger by suddenly appearing over the hill top, Legolas wound his way around the sloping mound to approach from a south-westerly dip. The first creature to notice him was a chestnut horse, already saddled. Ears pricked eagerly in his direction and bright eyes surveyed this golden-haired newcomer intelligently, before it softly nickered its acquiescence for the Prince to proceed.

Beyond the horse was what Legolas presumed must be the owner, stooped low beside the now extinguished fire circle. A large grey cloak and tall pointed hat concealed any features from the Princes gaze.

Good morning sir! the Prince called in a clear, pleasant voice, reaching forward to stroke the chestnut horses mane.

The man, however, gave no sign he had heard Legolas voice. He instead continued rummaging thorough a saddle bag, collecting away his travelling gear.

It is strange that I should find another walker through these lands, which at so bitter a time of year are usually deserted. He tried again, assuming the old man had not heard him. Though not entirely unpleasant, I must confess.

Again, no response. Legolas was sure he had spoken louder that time perhaps this man was very old? He was under the impression that mortals senses dimmed considerably with old age. The horse nudged him gently, searching his pocket for something edible.

There is nothing in there for you I am afraid, my friend-

Damn and blast it! the old man said suddenly with passion, causing the Prince to jump about a foot backwards. The horse watched him with mild eyes.

I shall miss that flint and tinder before too long, Ill warrant... he muttered, straightening up and pushing his hat back on his head as he turned around. And you, Master Prince, should not be stalking old men! I cant keep taking surprises like that at my age, you know.

Shock turned at once to wonder and joy as the voice that niggled a memory was matched with a weather-worn face, sparkling blue eyes and a large nose.

_Mithrandir!_ Legolas cried, laughing as he ran forward. He gave a formal salute to the wandering wizard before embracing him as the old friend he was.

Yes, it is, if you would believe it, he replied merrily, the disgruntlement in his voice vanished. Walking such countries even as this, young Prince! Whatever next, I wonder...

Forgive me, I did not recognise you, Legolas apologised a little guiltily. It has been far too long since we last met!

Not so long by Elven standards, young one yet long enough to warrant a decent conversation full of _genuine_ surprises. He winked down at the Elven Prince.

Very well, I suppose you are correct, as always. Gandalf nodded his assent to the comment as he padded his travel-worn robes absently. But what brings you on a journey hither? Are you going to visit my father?

No, no, young one...blast it, now where is my pipe? he muttered, ignoring the Princes other question and disgruntled once more. The horse snorted and twitched his ears. Ah of course! Gandalf marched straight past the Prince and pulled his trusty pipe and weed pouch from an already fixed saddlebag. Legolas quirked an elegant eyebrow at the wizard.

Helps to clear my head of a morning, Gandalf said by way of explanation to the unspoken question. Shrugging, Legolas repeated his first line of enquiry.

A wizards dealings are his own, you meddling young Prince, he replied imperiously, drawing deeply on his pipe; yet below the shadow of his hat, the twinkle never left his eye. Besides, I might well ask you the same thing.

I am headed to Rivendell, Legolas replied at once.

A little late in the year for a quick visit, is it not?

I was intending to winter there, the elf admitted, dropping his gaze. I have not seen Estel since... well, for a year now. The wizard did not press his companion; he had heard a significantly abbreviated versions of last years events in the Greenwood, and suspected what as going through Legolas mind.

That will be good for you, I think, Gandalf said gently, placing a large hand on the Princes slender shoulder. And your father let you go willingly?

With some persuasion, Legolas smiled wryly. Gandalf did not doubt it and chuckled. Our people are safe and at peace, they will not miss me for a season or two I think.

To this Gandalf did not reply, though the twinkle in his eyes faltered for a moment as his gaze flitted south-eastward, to the darker southern heart of Mirkwood. He almost fancied he could see the faint hill of Dol Goldur rise, sinister against the far sky... Thranduils realm may be safe, but he was not sure how long the peace would last. Evil lingered in those now deserted towers and the grey wizards heart told him that Bilbos adventure at the Lonely Mountain had merely been the first move in a larger game. This, in truth, was the reason for his journey; he intended to skirt the Necromancers old strong hold, then head on to Gondor to see how the defences held. Of course, there was no need for him to tell the Prince this, and so the thoughts were pushed from his mind. Legolas eyes however were sharp, and he did not miss the momentary change in the old man, though he let it go unmarked.

I think we can safely guess that your father would heartily disagree with that assessment, young one but it is not for us to judge, he added on seeing the Prince about to respond. Now, the day is wearing on: see how Arien speeds her burden across the sky!

Legolas took this to mean their brief meeting had come to its end, and though he knew he yet had far paths to tread, still he was saddened that he could not linger a while longer with the Maia. A gentle smile graced Gandalfs mouth as he put out his pipe and stowed it safely away once more. Do not worry, young one our paths shall cross again afore either of us seek it, I shouldnt wonder.

At this the Prince returned the smile, and offered his shoulder as Gandalf climbed into the saddle.

I shall look forward to that time, he said. Let it not be as long a wait as the last!

Careful what you wish for, Prince; now farewell, and take care on your journey make haste before winter beats you to the Valley!

With that he was off, the chestnut horse springing readily into a canter across the rolling plains and disappearing behind a low hill. Legolas paused a moment, listening to the sound of receding hoof beats. He glanced upwards to the grey sky and even as Gandalf had said, the light had grown where the Sun rose higher. Taking the wizards advice, the Prince turned back towards the mountains, and went swiftly on his way.

_It was cold. Which was odd, because he had never experienced cold before. The alien feeling permeated his very bones and dulled everything to a faint pulse. He wondered absently how mortals coped with it. There was not much sound either; the world was muffled, as though he existed in a vacuum outside of it, a shadowy spectator to his own life. And the mist... perhaps it was that which caused the cold? He could not tell. All he knew is that, though his eyes were fine, the visions before him slid in and out of focus, hidden behind a translucent veil. He raised a hand to look at himself and found it as ghost-like as the world around him. He knew this was alarming and yet was not alarmed by it or rather, there seemed little point in being so. He sighed, a deep, long sigh, and felt autumn leaves rustle by. The world he no longer belonged to was familiar. He could make out a long hall way, airy and shadow filled. Obscured faces traversed the space, their features indistinguishable as they padded sadly by a long bench where two familiar people sat. They were clearer than the others; one emitted a soft blue light, his long dark hair cascading about a face hidden in his hands. The other glowed with a sharp white light, his arm placed comfortingly around shaking shoulders._ I know them, _he thought_ brothers... _but the wistful thought was stolen away by the mist. Another vaguely familiar figure approached the two, whose light was bright gold and pierced the shadows with ease. He raised his ghostly arm to shield his eyes, and words floated to him in fitful snatches..._

Night stole over the hidden valley like a thief, with few paying it any heed. Lights were lit across the Last Homely House, burning brightly in defiance of the darkness. Yet there was no light bright enough to lift the shadow that hung ominously over all who dwelt therein, and most heavily on the Peredhil family. In the corridor outside the Healing Wing of the building, Estel and Elrohir sat in numb silence on a bench. They had not moved for hours, and one by one household staff passed them silently by, sorrowful glances passing between them at this new tragedy to have befallen their Lord. Nrendis, a serving maid, paused before them. The fathomless loss in Elrohirs face and the bloodshot eyes of the mortal youth nearly rent her heart in two. Slowly she knelt down before them, taking a hand of each, silently pleading with dark eyes.

My Lords, you must take your rest, she said softly, her voice low and calming. Elrohir gave no sign that he was aware of her presence, but Estel turned a roving gave towards her.

You must eat something at the least, she implored quietly, squeezing their hands gently. Farothrim can make you anything you like in the kitchens. You need to keep your strength up.

Estel appreciated her attempts and forced a grim smile onto his face. We are not hungry, thank you Nrendis. He hoped that she would leave. He did not think he could keep his voice from shaking for long.

You have not eaten all day...take some refreshment now, if only to prepare you for a night vigil. Estel opened his mouth to speak, but no words could form. Elrohir pulled his hand away and raised it to his face, shutting her out.

I I think it best if you leave us, Estel managed croakily. He inwardly cringed at the look on the maids face as he removed his own hand, but he did not have enough emotion left in him to care for her too.

A delicate hand lighted on Nrendiss shoulder, and a tinkling voice spoke. Come, my dear; leave the Lords to their peace. Her friend Finwen stood over her with a sad smile, and took her hand. Sighing, the dark haired elf maid rose to her feet, and reluctantly allowed herself to be led away.

Perhaps she is right, Estel said tonelessly, breaking the silence. Truth be told he was not hungry, but it would be a distraction.

No reply came from behind the barricade of Elrohirs hands. Estel did not know what to do. Never had he seen either of the twins like this... it was as though Elrohir was shutting the world out, piece by piece. A thought that had been haunting Estel all day flitted brazenly across his mind: _if Elladan fades, Elrohir will follow him_... It made him shudder. _It will not come to that_, he tried to tell himself, but the doubt was not assuaged. Since Lord Elrond had removed his eldest to the Healing Chamber that morning, they had been given little information as to what was going on behind the great oaken door. _The young lord has a fever_, one of the assistant healers had said; _your father is trying to break it_. But elves, Estel knew, did not get fevers. The image of Elladans pale unblemished skin running with scarlet blood, the unnatural angle of his neck... He did not want to think about it, yet it was all he could think about. His brother had fractured at least once leg, he was sure but a fracture, even a broken bone would not have caused Lord Elrond to work for so long.

It was all wrong, _so_ wrong. Elves did not simply fall. There was a darker force at work, there had to be.

Reaching out a shaking hand, he rested it on Elrohirs back tentatively. The twin shifted, turning to rest empty eyes on his mortal brother.

He is going to be alright. Estel spoke the meaningless words because they were all he had. He did not believe them, and neither did Elrohir, who shook his dark head.

Something was there, he whispered, his eyes never leaving Estels. Something terrified him... and I could not stop it.

Do not speak so, Estel hushed, leaning more across his brother as he saw dulled eyes fill with tears. I know what you are doing, Elrohir, but this is not your fault.

I felt it, Estel it was like ice, a void with nothing... his voice trailed off. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut. His little brother had never seen him cry and he knew he should be strong, but he felt like there was a sap on his strength. It was like his mother, all over again...except then Elladan had been here with him. Single tears began to escape from the corner of his closed eyes, and he brought his hands back up to hide them, shame and fear and anguish all becoming one.

Estel felt his own tears welling up and wrapped his brother in a hug, burying his face in the twins hair as the shoulders beneath him trembled with soft sobs.

It was thus that Glorfindel found them minutes later rounding the corner, the waves of sorrow washed over him like a rain of arrowa, forcing him to catch his breath. Too many times... too many times he had felt such pain in this House. The huddled forms of those he sought made him sigh. Nrendis had said as much, yet still...

With light steps, he came to stop by the brothers who were so distressed they did not notice him until he placed a wide, warm hand on the back of each. Estel peered up through wayward locks, blinking back tears.

Ai, Elbereth... the golden Lord breathed, knowing there were no words to say. Too young, they were too young for this and he was not sure their father could survive this blow either.

Has your father emerged yet, young one? he asked quietly, slipping unintentionally back into the use of Estels childhood nickname. He looked so much like a boy again tonight that it came naturally.

Estel shook his head. Not since before sunset, he whispered. Glorfindel nodded, and rose slowly to his feet. I am going to go in, he said, pulling away.

Then I am coming with you, Elrohir said suddenly, sitting up and dislodging Estel. I have had enough of this waiting game. The not knowing is the worst of all.

Elrohir Glorfindel knew Elrond had specifically requested that his sons remain without. Their healing skill he doubted not, but their barely contained fear would not have been conducive to effective treatment and thus he had requested that his Captain keep them outside. And although it had not been said, Glorfindel had also felt the silent communication: _If I cannot stop this_, those ageless grey eyes pleaded, _I do not want them to see let them remember him as he was._

No! Elrohir barely contained his shout, now on his feet and heading for the door. Taken aback, Glorfindel followed him closely and taking his shoulders span him around before he reached the door.

I know this is difficult

You have _no_ idea! the twin yelled back, pushing the balrog-slayer away with more force than either had expected. Glorfindel stumbled back a pace or two before regaining his feet, and schooling his face to passivity. Elrohir did not move, but closed his eyes and ran a hand through his long hair, steadying his breathing. Estel watched them both with wide eyes. He did not know of anyone who had raised a hand to Glorfindel of the Golden Flower within this household.

I am going in, Elrohir repeated, his voice steady but strained. He met and held Glorfindels eye and for a moment the two strove for prominence. Then the golden lord sighed heavily and raised his hands in defeat, motioning that they all move forward.

Very well; but you must prepare yourself, Glorfindel advised sternly before the door. The elven twin nodded briskly, Estel scooting to his side.

Elrohir pushed the heavy oaken door without hesitation and strode purposefully into the softly lit Healing Chamber. Several mid-ranking Healers glanced up sharply, their brows furrowing as the young Lord of Imladris stalked across the wide circular room, heading for the door that led to the place where he knew his father dealt with the most serious cases brought to him. Estel was hot on his heels, reluctant to meet the eyes of those that watched them but unable to remain ignorant to the swift exit of a young maid through a side door, sent on her way by a word from her senior. _So father will expect us then_, he thought grimly, and maintained pace with his brother. Glorfindel followed a few steps behind, exchanging guarded and apologetic looks with the Healers, but offering no explanation. No doubt they had heard the commotion at the door anyway.

In the secluded side chamber Elrohir led them to, heavy dark velvet drapes were drawn across all of the airy windows, blocking off the cold night breezes. A fire cackled in the hearth, lending the room an orange glow and fierce warmth. There was one bed, and only one apparent person in the room. Elrohirs strangled cry and hurried steps to the soft bed drew Glorfindels attention from his search for Elrond. There, lying beneath thin white cotton sheets and a thick comforter, lay the eldest son of the Lord of Imladris. Estel froze, his eyes fixed on the apparition that his brother had so quickly become. The usually pale elven skin was almost translucent, giving it an unhealthy greyish pallor, and his face was beaded with sparkling sweat. Beneath thin lids roving eyes flickered constantly, and cheeks that only that morning had been full of life now looked hollow and sullen. Elrohir gently took hold of his twins unresponsive hand.

You are so cold brother... he whispered. He turned to Estel. He is like ice!

Estel swallowed and regained himself, rushing to the other side of the bed. It was indeed as Elrohir had said; Elladan felt dangerously cold to the touch, yet his body continued to sweat as though a fire raged inside him. It made no sense, much less for an elf.

How did this happen to you? Elrohir croaked, softly stroking Elladans damp hair. A tired voice from behind answered.

His condition has been worsening all day.

Neither brother moved from their places by Elladans side, but both turned to see their father standing in the doorway. Gone was his usual attire of flowing dark robes, replaced by a blue shirt laced at the front, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, his hair tied back from his face.

I am sorry, friend truly, Glorfindel placed a strong hand on his old friends shoulder. Elrond smiled a thin mirthless smile, and kicked the door closed behind him with a booted foot.

You should have let us in, Elrohir said, unable to keep the accusation from his tone. I should have been here, with him.

You are probably right, Elrond sighed, taking heavy steps towards the bed, halting at its foot. There were dark rings beneath his eyes that Estel had never seen before, and a haunting emptiness that reminded him instantly Elrohir.

What is wrong with him? Estel asked.

I do not know. The quiet truthful reply made Glorfindel close his eyes to the pain-filled words. Estel frowned, not understanding.

His right leg is broken, Elrond answered the unspoken questions tonelessly, falling back onto his role as Healer instead of father. Estel pulled back the comforter to see the rigid splint. His neck was strained, but thankfully there seems to be no permanent damage. Besides that, there are no outward abrasions and no apparent internal injuries.

But he has a fever...

Yes.

Well what has caused it? Is there a poison?

No.

Then what? You must have missed something! Frustration burst forth without intention, and Estel bit his lip, regretting it already. Sorry sorry... I just...

I know, little one, Elrond headed him off. It started early afternoon and.... I cant break it... though it seems to have levelled off now. His condition has been stable for a few hours.

There must be something else, something we have missed. Estel could not stand to see the people he loved most in the world crumbling before him in fact, the suddenness with which they seemed to have lost hope completely contradicted the stoic characters of the family that he knew.

There was something else I have told you that already, Elrohir said with no small amount of bitterness.

What kind of something else, young lord? Nesials aged voice appeared suddenly from the doorway, causing them all to turn in surprise.

My Lady, I think it best if you return to your chambers, Glorfindel said firmly, wondering how she had entered so silently; Lord Elrond is coping with the situation

No, my golden Lord, he is not, Nesial smiled sadly. Elrond did not contradict her or motion for her to leave, so Glorfindel stood aside. In fact, I would say he is fading as fast as his son.

And what would you have me do, my lady? Elronds tired question was only half rhetorical.

Nesial paused, weighing her words. I would have you use my knowledge I have travelled far and seen much; I may yet be of some use. So I return to my original line of inquiry what kind of something else?

Elrohir glanced between Estel and his father before answering. I I am not sure... it was more of a feeling, a sense of _something_ brushing my awareness.

Nesial frowned, her blind eyes squinting in thought. As though it were passing you by?

Yes... before it came upon Elladan. Elrohir looked back down to his twin, falling silent.

Well, what did it feel like? Was it benevolent or malevolent?

Elrohir closed his eyes, holding his twins hand close to his heart as though one beat alone could keep them both alive. It was icy, he repeated; It was brief and yet...I do not think I have ever felt such coldness.

Malevolent, then... Nesial murmured, scratching her nose with one finger. There was a silence as she considered something. Did you feel this? she motioned to Estel. You were right next to them. The young man shook his head silently, frowning, wondering why it had been so.

Your visions in Mirkwood, Elrond stated; You had them because you were mortal. Perhaps... perhaps this was a reversal of that situation.

What makes you suggest that, my lord? Nesial asked curiously.

The Lord of Imladris sighed and sat on the foot of the bed. It is most likely nothing... I thought nay, probably imagined... a shadow, this afternoon in the corridor, as they left my chambers. More a dream of a shadow really... He trailed off, his brow furrowed.

What? Nesial knew there was more, and a dark thought had occurred to her. Say it.

It seemed familiar, is all. But I cannot place it...

Mmn. No more reply was forthcoming, but a shaded fruit blossomed in the recesses of her mind, setting a heavy weight in the pit of her stomach. _But I must not leap to conclusions, _she thought;_ it will only give them undue worry and my presence may yet be an unfortunate coincidence..._ But the guilt, founded or not, had taken root and would not be dislodged.

Will you divulge your secrets, my lady? Elrond asked pointedly.

There are no secrets, she answered slowly, heading back towards the door. My deepest sympathies, Lord Elrond. She nodded stiffly and left them once more.

Elrond sat on the edge of the bed next to Estel, his eyes fixed on Elladan, a hand resting on the rapidly rising and falling chest of his eldest.

Have you called to him? Elrohir asked with quiet urgency.

He does not answer, was the soft reply. Estel did not know what scared him more, his brothers health or the defeated slump of his fathers shoulders.

Then there is nothing, more the younger twin whispered in hoarse despair.

There is always something always! Estel said horrified, more vigorously than he had intended and true to his name. We cannot simply give up. We never have before every problem has a solution: that is what you told me father.

Not every problem.

Well this one _does_! Anger, frustration, injustice all rose swiftly and tightly in his chest. We will _not_ give up, we will find a solution because there is _no other way_!

Elrohir met his eyes for a fleeting moment. Do what you will, Estel I remain here.

Standing to his feet, Estels lips pressed into a fine, grim line. Have it your way. He span and caught Glorfindels gaze watching him intently.

Will you be defeated too? he asked accusingly.

No, was the surprising and firm reply: I will aid you, son of Elrond, in this endeavour. With a grim smile, he motioned for them to leave. Before the door closed, each cast back one glance of longing at the piteous scene by the bed. Estel suddenly found himself desperately wishing Legolas was here. He was always sharp-minded, he would know where to begin this search... But such wishing was wasted effort. With a soft click, the door closed and they were alone.

Glorfindel could feel the heated emotion, fuelled by fear for his family, emanating from the young human. Do not judge them too hastily, Estel, the golden Lord warned, I fear they are not in their right minds.

Too damned right theyre not, Estel muttered angrily, striding determinedly out of the Healing Chambers.

I mean- putting a strong but gentle hand on Estels shoulder, he made him pause in the corridor. I mean, whatever has afflicted Elladan _is also directly affecting them_. The emphatic words made Estel frown.

Like... something contagious?

Perhaps... perhaps not. As your father noted, your mortal blood may have singled you out once more though this time, to you benefit.

I see no benefit thus far, he smiled mirthlessly.

Then let us reverse these events, Glorfindel countered forcefully, and Estel was comforted by the fierce light in his eyes. And we can begin, I think, with the Lady Nesial.

_The movements of his family seemed to appear to him as through a shrouded veil, flickering like shadows in firelight. His family... he knew that they were, and yet his attachment to them, the associations, seemed weak or faded as though they were the connections of a former life. He saw glimpses of a prone body and knew it as his own, although he did not recognise it. When the two figures of white and gold light left the sick chamber, the essences remaining glowed only dully by comparison, the same pale blue glow. _

_Suddenly, the images began to swirl and blur. At first he thought he was descending into darkness, before he realised the world was realigning into a different scene, clearer and sharper in focus but unfamiliar. He was more real in this place; he put hands up to his face and saw them, felt the soft skin of his cheeks. He realised he was in some sort of hall made all of wood, with four fireplaces positioned as though the room were a square compass, though areas of the hall were partitioned off with hangings. Tapestries were draped along the walls and the floor was covered in thick animal skins. The air was comfortingly warm and smelled sweet with herbs and spices. On the far side of the hall there was a man, whom might have been termed handsome his face was chiselled and fair, his hair silver-white and a regal, with a commanding air about him. His eyes, however, ruined the illusion; dark emerald, they held a poison that spread across his face and turned it to a permanent scowl. Beside him on a small table was a phial of noxious looking liquid, which his long elegant fingers traced absently. He seemed to be waiting for something, Elladan thought._

I was...

_A hissing voice suddenly startled him. There did not appear to be anyone else in the hall, and the pale man had not spoken. Nor, unsurprisingly had he noticed Elladan, who strongly suspected this was a hallucination._

Oh it is very real, I assure you... or it was once...

_Who who is there?__ Elladan called uncertainly, his own voice sounding small and childlike. _

No one is_ here, came the derisive hiss. _There is no _here _to be in, son of Elrond.

_Who are you? Elladan tried again more loudly. _

An old acquaintance of your father... I thought it would be pleasant for us to spend some quality time together.... _A soft drawn out hiss lent itself to be described as a laugh, though it sent a shiver down Elladans spine._

_What am I doing here? Elladan demanded._

Watch and see...

_From behind him the flap of one of the partition hangings was lifted, and two young boys emerged. One wore bland brown, but the other was adorned in a rich emerald green tunic trimmed with gold, making him seem like a Prince. And there was something about him... something that reminded Elladan of his brother, when he was young... Suddenly it clicked: the grey eyes, the dark hair... It was his father!_

Not as simple as you look, then, it seems... _the voice cackled._ Yes it is your father. This is one of our first...encounters together. I thought you might enjoy it.

_Something about the tone of the voice gave Elladan extreme misgivings, but there was nothing he could do but watch as his teenage father knelt before the blonde man, who sneered at him viciously. Elrond offered no resistance. The man picked up the phial from the table and dangled it in front of the young half-elf, taunting him. _

_This, he smiled triumphantly, a gleam of pure malice in his eyes, This is a creation of my own; Darquaril. Tried and tested to perfection, he added with malevolence, and glanced in the direction that the boy servant had disappeared, almost straight through Elladan. There was a sharp, insistent tugging in his mind and he felt the bottom of his stomach plummet._

_NO! he tried to shout, but it was too late. As the toxic substance entered his fathers mouth, he felt the burning sensation hit his own throat and he staggered sideways, hitting one of the halls supporting beams. He gagged reflexively but having not swallowed anything, there was nothing for his body to repel. He watched in horror as his father paused for what felt like an eternity, knowing instinctively that worse was to come._

_A blinding white explosion went off behind his eyes and he fell to the ground screaming, dimly aware of his father teenage self doing precisely the same just meters away. The hissing voice grew louder now, laughing viciously._

You see? You see?! How I broke him, that _father_ of yours? _It spat the word as if it were an insult. _

_The pain stopped as suddenly as it had begun. His chest heaved violently, his face wet with tears he was unaware he had shed. The room began to spin wildly. _

You father escaped me. You will_ not._

_The last thing he saw was darkness and emerald eyes gleaming, then the pain racked him again and he knew no more. _

**TBC...anyone recognise the scene?**

**Loadsa love, Estel xxx**


End file.
